The Shade Law
by Not Tempest Bound
Summary: AU. Living in a world where your genes have no say in what your hair, eyes and skin color will look like, Jillian Brook thinks that life can't get much worse. That is, until she meets the notorious Phantom Thief...Like she says, "Bear it and grin, right?" Complete!
1. It's Written in the Stars

The horror of sitting in a chair in the neonatal ward is second only to visiting the morgue. But it's a very close second.

I'm one of the only people who are disgusted with what they do there. With all the needles and concoctions they use to inject them with, you'd think it was a testing facility. Which I guess it is, technically.

There's a tap on the glass window behind me. It's Mom. She's holding a beautiful baby—a girl by the looks of her pink blanket—with wide, innocent blue eyes and a shock of dark hair, who's tugging at my mother's near-black locks. The girl's smiling that big, unguarded, toothless-all-gums smile that babies have. My gut clenches.

"Isn't she pretty?" Barely waiting for my stiff nod—I notice the avoidance of the word 'beautiful'—my mother coos to the baby. "Don't worry, Sweetie, we'll make you _beautiful!_" She whispers, then tucks the blanket tighter around the baby and disappears into the secluded room to the left. There's a large glass window, untinted, just for those parents who want to watch the Changing with their own eyes.

As I watch my mother head towards the table in the room, I do what I'm expected: I join the group of people clamouring to get closer to the window for a better view, where the girl's parents stand, holding hands and beaming like they're attending their child's Honour Ceremony, instead of something that might change her life forever. And the change is almost never good.

Judging by the mother's bright lavender eyes and the father's yellow blonde hair—who has buttercup-yellow as a natural born hair color, anyways?—I can tell that they're not the richest people in the city—but they're not the poorest, either. The colors are garish enough to be fashionable, but they're not vivid enough to have cost a fortune. You can't say that about most families, including mine.

Poor people get the colors that no one wants—like brown—or the leftovers from old batches. I was lucky, in a way. I got an amethyst eye color that wasn't so old that it had lost most of its vibrancy, though it is duller than the original coloring which was a shiny, bright purple. Mom still claims that my eye color more closely resembles the gem's actual shade, though.

There's a movement at the front of the crowd. The wall of people splits, revealing Mom at the window, talking. It takes me a few beats to realize she's talking to me through the microphone installed into the window. "Jill, come closer so you can watch the procedure, huh? You're going to be a Nurse, too, so this should be a great learning experience!"

In reality, I don't really want to become a Nurse, the very people who conduct the Changing, but what do you do when your parents badger you daily with hopes that you'll become one of the Helpers? They constantly shove pamphlets and school applications in my face, which, according to them, I will join when I graduate normal school in a few months when I turn 16.

The Helpers are the people who form groups that, obviously, help the government or public, including Nurses, Doctors, Law Keepers, that kind of thing. Nurses are at the bottom of the social ladder, even if they take care of one of the most important laws we have in Forget-Me-Not City. (See, even the name of the city reflects a color!)

I walk up to the window and stop next to the couple, who, under closer inspection, are very young, maybe just out of their teens. They smile at me. I smile back at them, though it probably looks more like a grimace, not a grin. Then there's a metallic squeal as my mother pulls the tray up to rest next to the sleeping baby, who, at the moment, is sucking her thumb.

I only have a few seconds to wonder what colors the couple have chosen before my mother picks up a large syringe filled with a neon green liquid. Even if this should be appalling and horrific to watch, all I can think is that I hope that the color was for her eyes, not her hair or skin. I've seen this so many times; I know how this plays out; I've become numb to it. In theory.

The lady holding the needle—because I can't think of this person as my _mother_—brings the end down to the infant's chubby arm and then, all of a sudden—I blink and miss it—there's a drop of blood trailing from where it must have pricked. The girl flails her arms wildly, letting out squalling cries. There's another prick with another needle, this one filled with a white liquid that resembles frost, and then the baby is left in a crib to Change. As I watch the baby thrashing her arms around, I notice how tiny her fist is. And then I glance a little farther down her arm and see the small bloody dot and I grit my teeth.

The Change isn't noticeable until a few minutes after it's started. We only notice the slight bleeding of white in her hair when her mother brings her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, our baby!" The woman gasps, tears leaking out of her eyes. She's smiling, even as her child is crying her eyes out from the pain. It's all I can do not to yell at her.

You see, I knew someone who was alive before the Law was made, so he had to get himself injected. Of course it's easier if you were born when the Law was active, since you can't remember the Changing. But it's a different story when you weren't. He described it as a fire licking up your body, like you were burning at the stake.

I can only stand while I listen to the wails of the baby.

And, after a few minutes, the couple has their newly Changed infant in their arms, her eyes as green as neon paint and her hair no longer the dark chestnut it was. It's almost a pure white, which you don't see often, since only the very rich can afford it. And then there's the color silver. Silver is only used by the absolute rich. In fact, the only family I've heard of that can afford it is the Blackthorn family, who only have one child, a boy about my age named Skye.

I reach for my coat and bag, and after my mother exchanges her white Nurse's gown for her jacket, we leave and head home. Like nothing has happened. Like she hasn't just permanently altered a life.

Dad is waiting for us when we get home. He's reading the newspaper on the front porch of our house, which is in the underdeveloped part of the city. When we get out of the car, he waves me over with the paper.

"Did you hear? There's been another robbery!" He shakes his head in disbelief. "In and out, and no one noticed!"

At the mention of the robbery, I reach for the paper, scanning the front page. There it is: The Phantom Thief Strikes Again!

The article goes on to say that the Law Keepers are still on the lookout for the thief, who they say stole from a nearby mansion, belonging to Ms. Romana. He stole a priceless family heirloom, a necklace, and took off without tripping the multiple security systems they had in place.

This article is actually really late. This happened two days ago! And, despite what they claim, I doubt he actually did get out without being noticed. Lumina, Romana's granddaughter, says she spotted the thief and ran after him. But, guessing from the way she blushed when she told the class the day after the robbery, he probably complimented her and used her blush as a diversion to escape. Maybe she's too embarrassed to admit she let an infamous criminal escape and didn't tell the Law Keepers or the press.

I hide my smile as my father talks animatedly with Mom and head up to my room.

I still can't hide my happiness at the news, even if I heard it before. Yes! He struck again. I stick the article into my scrapbook, then wonder again who it might be. He must be part of the resistance! It has to be one of the angry protesters against the segregation! He must be in the ranks of the poor!

I sit on my bed, cross-legged, and tug at my straight brown hair. It falls out of its pony-tail easily, and I place the orange ribbon on my dresser. I knock a paper off by accident, which lands next to my pillow, and I reach to pick it up.

It's a picture of what the thief supposed to look like. In the picture, he has brown hair, darker than mine, light coloured eyes, and a pale complexion. Even the Law Keepers think he's one of us.

"Jill! Come down for supper, honey!"

My mother's voice jerks me out of my thoughts, and I put down the picture, jumping up off my bed. Guess I'll have time before bed to think about that.

* * *

><p>As I am getting ready for bed, I hear a soft <em>thud.<em> It's so quiet that I know most people wouldn't hear it, much less take notice of it. I eye my window suspiciously for a few moments, then walk over to it and tug it open. Leaning out, I nearly fall out when I see the hooded figure standing on my roof.

"Aah—"My scream is cut off by a cool hand. The person puts a finger to his lips and says 'Quiet!' I nod. _What if he has a gun?_ The thought that he might be armed makes my eyes widen and my pulse quicken. He holds his hand over my mouth a few seconds more, and then lifts it off cautiously, probably expecting that I would try to scream again. He doesn't need to worry. The thought of my parents finding me dead in my room tomorrow stops any thoughts of screaming.

"Hello, Beautiful. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but how ever did you hear me?" He asks, his voice husky from whispering. I shrug, wondering why he's staying, where he can be caught. I counter with a question of my own.

"Who're you?" I demand.

"Beautiful _and_ feisty." He sounds so amused that I nearly scream just to spite him. He must have guessed what I'm thinking because he pulls away a bit. Continuing on a _bit_ more seriously, he says, "To answer your question, Maiden, I'm in the newspaper almost every day."

He's the Phantom Thief? I take in all I can of him that I can see. I can tell he's taller than me, even if he's crouching, and I already know he's a boy from the newspaper, but he must be at least my age, most likely older by a year or two. Only half of his face is visible from under the shadow of the hood of his black sweater, but the hair I can see is long, down to his jaw. Which I find strange enough until I notice his hair color.

My eyes widen and I look up only to meet a sea-green gaze.

His hair's silver.

"W-wait," I start, my hand shaking as I push it through my hair. "You're the Phantom Thief? W-why do you have silver hair?" This isn't making any sense. But, his answer opens a pit of anger I didn't know I have.

"Well, since the Great War of the Classes, we—"

"I know my history!" I snap. Why did he have to be so infuriating? Oh, that's right, he's _rich._ "Listen here, Pretty Boy, I'm asking _why_ you have the color silver for your hair. Only the Blackthorn family can afford it. Are you claiming to be their son, Skye?"

He smirks, making me even more irritated with him. "Why, yes, Beautiful. So you're not just a pretty face. Smart, too. I like that." He smiles a devilish grin that most would find _very_ attractive, but I'm not in the mood.

All of a sudden, there are footsteps on the stairs, and my father is calling my name from the hallway. Skye glances towards my bedroom door, and then looks back at me. "Sorry, I got to jet. But don't worry; we'll meet again." And he starts to leave.

I look him straight in the eyes and snort. "You better not say anything cheesy like 'it's written in the stars' or something."

He pauses where he is, at the edge of the roof, and smirks over his shoulder; I notice his hood is back up over his head. "It's written in the stars." And then he jumps over the edge of the roof just as my father bursts into my room.


	2. Unicorns and Rainbows

The Shade Law

Chapter Two: Unicorns and Rainbows

"Here you go! Have a nice day!"

I take the gown being offered to me and fold it over my arm. A fake smile must have crossed my face, because the woman behind the counter smiles blindingly white teeth at me. I wave weakly in her general direction before heading off to change for my shift at the Hospital. I see a flash of silver from the corner of my eye and whip my head around, only to see a Nurse pushing a metal cart, clattering along noisily.

Looking up at the harsh unnatural Hospital lights, I run a hand down my face. _This is getting exhausting._

When my father left me in my room the night I found out who the Phantom Thief was, I was more puzzled and annoyed with myself than anything else. _Why hadn't I told him?_ I was going to, but something told me I shouldn't, like when you're about to give up a secret someone trusted you with.

My Mom's waiting for me when I get there. She's already in her white Nurse's gown, a clone of the one I have draped over my arm, tapping a pen impatiently against her leg. She sighs when she sees me.

"Quick, quick! Get changed! You're starting in…" She shakes her arm until her sleeve slips down, revealing her silver watch. "…In a few minutes! Go, go, go!" She pushes me into a room, and I hear a door close behind me.

After slipping into the cool gown, I step out of the room and head towards the neonatal ward. Parents and babies alike fill the room, some only a few minutes old, others months old. The older infants are probably here because of complications. The complications are birth defects, childbirth injuries, but never something caused by the Changing. It's never classified as that. _Never._

My mother is standing near the door, talking with a woman who keeps glancing down at the crib between them. She leans heavily on it and smiles proudly. When I stand next to the cradle, I look down to see a small child, maybe just recently born, maybe a few days old. His green eyes startle me, and I'm reminded of another gaze of almost the same hue. I shake my head and look at the lady.

She's a little older than I guessed before, but not by much. Thirty, thirty-five maybe, but not much older. She glances in my direction a few times, maybe wondering who I am, standing there, but says nothing to me besides a small 'hi'. I nod politely in return.

After talking with her, my mother takes my hand and leads me to a Changing room. She starts explaining how everything works, because, as she puts it, 'this is a very important part of you learning to become a Nurse!' I'm taking an internship here before I apply for school. I have to before they'll even _think_ of accepting me at The School for Nurses. It's not something I'm looking forward to.  
>My mother glances over my shoulder, towards the door of the neonatal ward, and her mouth forms a small 'o' shape. She smoothes her hair down, fixes her gown a bit and does the same to me. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot a man wearing an expensive looking suit, checking his watch and frowning. He must be off schedule.<p>

Too bad for him.

When he notices my mother and me, he makes his way over, wrinkling his nose at the Nurses and cribs. I take the time to look him over, because he looks vaguely familiar.

He wears a black suit and pants, with a black tie and a crisp white shirt. His dress shoes squeak a bit every time he takes a step, and it's getting on my nerves. He's about forty years old, with a clean-cut look to him. But his distaste with the people around him makes me nervous.

When he stops by my mother, he says, "Where's Isa?" His voice is deep, but there's something about it that makes me want to shiver.

"She's over there, Mr. Blackthorn." My mother nods in the direction of the lady she was talking to before.

Mr. Blackthorn? As in, Skye's dad? Now that I know, I see why he looks familiar. He has the same jaw-line as Skye...But how would I notice that? I shake my head, and Mr. Blackthorn (Skye's dad!) finally seems to notice the girl standing next to the lady he's talking to. (Whom he didn't bother to ask what her name was, thank you very much!)

I smile nervously and he just looks back to where the lady with the crib is. He walks over to the woman and stands there, staring at the baby in the crib with a strange look in his eyes. He seems to be thinking about something, then shakes his head and looks up to…What was her name? Isa?

Isa smiles happily at her child, and then glances up to Mr. Blackthorn. Her face pales a bit, but she keeps hold of his stare and lifts her chin an inch, almost defiantly. Mr. Blackthorn smiles an almost…evil smile.

"Isa, honey, what did you decide to name him?" He asks.

"His name's Alex. " Isa says, narrowing her eyes, as if daring Mr. Blackthorn to disagree. He doesn't, which seems to surprise her, because her eyebrows knit together. Then her eyes widen just a bit—I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't looking—and she looks around like she just realized there are other people around. Her face pales again and she looks worried or possibly even…scared? Why's she scared? Mr. Blackthorn smiles coldly then turns his attentions back to the crib.

I watch the two of them for a few more seconds before turning to Mom, who's already started explaining another aspect of the Nurse's job.

"—was the man who developed this _ingenious_ method of separating the social classes. He developed colorings that only affect certain genes, so that's why we don't have—oh, I don't know—green teeth, for example. We—"

I tune her out as she drones on and on about procedures and genes and everything besides. Mom's been a Nurse for so long that I've known most of this since I was a small kid.

She'll talk about how the Great War of the Classes changed everything. It was like those revolutions you hear about in Ancient History, except there was one difference—the majority did not win. So, to avoid any possible future uprisings, they got rid of what they thought was the root of the problem: social, religious and economic classes mixing. And the Shade Law was passed, much to many people's displeasure. In fact, I think Mr. Blackthorn's father, the father of the person who made the law, was one of those dissenters.

Before he was called out for treason and executed, of course.

Mr. Leader of the-not-so-free-world is Skye's father. Go figure. _But why's he at the Hospital?_ My mother must have noticed the confused look on my face, because she pauses in her lecture.

"Honey? Is something bothering you?" She asks, her finger still pointing at the Changing crib. She must have been explaining its use. I wince and she looks more concerned.

"Huh? No, not really. It's just…why is Mr. Blackthorn at the Hospital?" _And when he's clearly off schedule,_ I add in my head. When I see him check his watch for the umpteenth time since he's arrived, I nearly burst out laughing.

"You didn't hear?" When I shake my head, she looks around and leans in, like she's about to tell me a big secret. And, boy, what a secret.

"His wife's just given birth—surely I've told you?—and he's here for the Changing." She blinks, like she just remembered something. "Oh, and their son's coming, too. What was his name? _Skye. _ That's what it was." And she smiles and pats me on the shoulder as if she can see my inner turmoil. But she can't. At least, I hope she can't.

"Honey, can you go prepare Changing room #3?" I nod, even if I'm not sure if I can actually do it. How am I supposed to prepare a room when my feet feel like they're glued to the floor?

She starts to leave, but pauses at the door, frowning. "And Jill? Can you order and set out the colorings? I just remembered I have a meeting to go to. A virus is going around." And she disappears through the door before I can even start to try to make my mouth work again, leaving me staring after her, thinking _'what the hell just happened?'_

I blink. _Okay, let's just get everything straight_, I think.

One: Mr. Blackthorn's wife just gave birth, and he's here for the Changing.

Two: The Changing is taking place within a few hours, give or take, and I'm supposed to fix the room that they're going to use.

Three: Skye's coming to watch.

Oddly, that last thought doesn't seem to want to stick inside my head. It's like those…what were they called? Post-its? Yeah, post-its. It's like one of those being stuck to something one-too-many times, then it just falls off, because there's no more glue to stick it to anything. That's how the thought felt to me. Like it wouldn't stay long enough for me to grasp it.

I make my way to the Changing room, which turns out to be the room they used for the Changing of the little girl, the one with the florescent eyes and frosty hair. Of course.

I start to fix the crib, pull out the clean sheets, the needles. I check the clipboard hanging next to the door—which says they want silver hair and emerald green eyes—and make the orders to the coloring department, who say they'll have it sent up within the hour. The syringes clink against each other as I place them on the tray. There's a light, metallic clang behind me. A syringe drops to the ground next to the dented holder.

As I'm leaning over to pick it up—"Oh, shoot!"—the door opens, and when I look over my shoulder I spot my best friend, Celia, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, a small smile pulling at her lips.

I straighten up and raise an eyebrow. "How's the plants?"

She smiles her gentle smile, pushing off of the door. "They're good."

I glance back at the syringe in my hands and place it on the tray with the others then look back at her. "I'm sorry, Celia, I'm kinda busy at the moment. Was there a reason you came here for?"

He smile disappears and she sighs tiredly, her shoulders slumping. "Auntie Vesta sent me to the market to sell some of the produce. Which I already did."

I cross my arms, already guessing where this was heading. "So that's not the reason you came here for, then?"

She fidgets with her long dark hair. "No. Do you know Marlin?" She asks, and I can't help but notice her wringing her hands, her cheeks pink.

"You mean Elvis? The guy who works as a farmhand on your aunt's farm?" When she glares at me, I just laugh it off. "Come on, Celia! You have to admit it: his hair _does _remind you of Elvis'. Even just a little bit."

She waits until my laughter stops, then smiles grudgingly. "Yeah, okay, it does. But anyways, back to my question: Do you know him?"

Then all of a sudden, her squirming and flickering eyes made sense. She likes a certain someone!

"You like him, don't you?" I try to make it sound like I was teasing her, but by the way her eyebrows pull down in nervousness, I can tell I pretty much failed in that aspect.

"What? You don't think that's weird…do you?"

"No, no. Just asking…well, do you?"

She blushes harder, and I am vaguely aware of the smile that has pulled at my lips when she says, "Yeah, I do. He's just so…great." Her head's lost somewhere where unicorns exist at the moment, so I take the opportunity to pick up the metal syringe holder.

Just at that moment, a man from the coloring department arrives. I walk over to the door, produce ID—which he scans along with my fingerprints—and sign the paper the man offers me. Smiling politely, I accept the small parcel he hands me, and close the door when he leaves. Turning around, I catch Celia's disapproving glare and place the package on a nearby stool.

"What? It's my job."

"But it's not the job you want, is it?"

I sigh. "Go back to your land of cotton candy clouds and rainbows, will ya? You're so much more annoying when you join us in reality." I say teasingly (without failing!) as I pull out the vials of coloring, taking a few seconds to study each label before placing it on the tray, next to their respective needles. They clink obnoxiously against each other.

She sticks her tongue out at me and glances at the clock on the wall. She jumps a bit and exclaims, "Oh, shoot! I should be back by now!" She turns her head around to look at me, her eyes wide. "I'll see you at school, okay?" And she rockets out of the room the moment after I nod, nearly barreling over a Nurse, who just entered the room. She presses herself against the doorway as Celia runs past, her long brown skirt hitched up for speed and her hair whipping around despite her bandanna.

The Nurse stares after Celia, which is quite normal, since both her eyes and hair are brown. But what do you expect? Her aunt, Vesta, has been raising her since she was born, since her mother died. But they don't mind the stares. Except Mr. Grumpy-Elvis, that is. He's always complaining how everyone's always bothering him.

And by everyone, he means Rock and Lumina. But Rock—self-proclaimed class-clown and flirt—annoys everyone, since he hits on anything that moves. And the fact that he thinks that every girl on Earth wants to be his girlfriend, even if they're clearly dating someone else, doesn't help much. I, along with every sane person at school, constantly wonder what Lumina sees in him,

Lumina is odd for a rich person. She's generally very sweet, and she has _brown eyes. _She has blonde hair, though, so that seems to smooth everything over, but what was her late mother thinking? I always knew that the Changing had an effect on brain function…and mortality.

That's the only thing that Celia and Lumina have in common. Both their parents died of complications of the Changing. Even if they classified it as 'unknown cause of death', everyone knows that it was caused by the colors they used. Magenta and sunset orange, specifically. Those colors are never ordered now.

The Nurse has very icy blue eyes and her hair's tied up into a loose bun. She looks quite old—she's all hunched over—and seems a little grouchy. She sighs when she looks at me and nods towards the door. "You must be Jill. You're scheduled to perform your first test Changing, right?"

I freeze by the door. "What? I thought I was only supposed to prepare the room. I'm only an intern!" I say, my gut twisting into knots as I break out into sweat. Oh, joy.

"That's right. You are to do your first test Changing today, on the Blackthorn child." She studies my face a few seconds before continuing. "Now, we wouldn't usually let you Change the child of such an important man, but they very pointedly asked for you. Be very grateful they even know you exist."

Before I can even answer, she calls in a Nursing Assistant, a middle-aged lady, who wheels a crib in. She takes the baby out of the bed, places him in the Changing crib, and leaves. I force my arms to move and pull the tray up next to the baby. He gurgles happily when he sees me. I wince and look out the window, only to see a crowd has already gathered. My eyes snap back and forth, looking for the familiar brown eyes of my mother.

But all I find is an aquamarine gaze.


	3. Guns and Presidency

The Shade Law

Chapter 3: Guns and Presidency

Skye stares at me through the glass, one eyebrow raised, as if to say 'what are you waiting for? An invitation?' I shake my head slightly, because I can't believe it.

Seriously, I don't think anyone could've foreseen it: the son of the leader of the government has broken the law multiple times without being caught. I smile vaguely before remembering where I am at the moment. The Nurse is still watching me, ready to help if I were to forget anything. Not like I would, though. Mom's been drilling this into my skull ever since I was born.

I reach out a shaky hand to pick up a syringe—the one for his eyes—pause, try to steady my hand and my breathing. I hate this.

When I finally manage to pick up the needle, I bring it towards the boy's arm. His face lights up with childish amusement.

_I can't do it_, I think.

And I don't have to. He does it for me. The baby, still happy as can be, jerks his arm just an inch, and it's over. He's been pricked and I release a sigh of relief. And then I feel terrible as Alex starts crying.

I look over to the Nurse, who smiles encouragingly. I hold my breath as I pick up the second syringe, quickly prick his arm, and instantly hate myself.

_At least the needles are automatic_, I think, which makes me even more disgusted with myself. Am I the only thing I can think of when a small child is crying because I hurt him? I'm a horrible human being, that I know now.

I can already see a gray sheen on his small head of hair, like a thin silver cloud. I want to pick him up and comfort him, but I don't. Instead, I spin around and rush outside, to the room where I changed for this awful shift.

I slide down by a wall and bury my head in my hands, my hair coming loose of its ties. I'm vaguely aware of the hollow sound of the ribbon hitting the ground.

_How could I have done it?_ I ask myself, pounding my knees with the heel of my hands. Salty tears sting my eyes and I turn my head away from the door. I wasn't going out there for a while, not with all those people.

There's a knock on the door, but I don't bother answering. If they want to come in so badly, they can do it themselves. I wasn't helping anyone anytime soon.

Light pours in as the door opens. I hide my face with my bangs, turning my head away even more, hunching my shoulders. A shadow sucks some of the light away and then all of it's gone as the door closes.

"Never thought I'd see you again, Maiden."

"Just shut up, Skye. I'm not in the mood to entertain your antics." I grumble, some tears slipping off onto the cement floor. "No one asked you to play comforter, anyways."

I lean hard against the wall, now completely turned away from the door, my legs pulled up to my chest. My head starts to pound in time with footsteps echoing throughout the room. The footsteps squeak every time.

_It must be Mr. Blackthorn_, I think absurdly. I wipe my face quickly; he wasn't going to see me like this.

I nearly jump out of my skin when the fuzzy shadow completely covers my hunched form, and I press closer to the wall. But, instead of the voice of Mr. Blackthorn, I hear Skye's equally smooth one.

"I'm the one who asked for you to be our Nurse." He nudges me with his foot, like I was a bug that you would find when you were younger and you wanted to see if it still was alive. You poke at it to see it squirm. "I wished to see you again, Maiden."

I snort. "Well, I guess you got your wish." I say, looking up at him. I smile a bit and add, "Just don't complain about the quality."

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a half-grin and he chuckles. "Well, Beautiful, I'm not complaining."

I sniffle and choke out, "Skye, I told you—"

Suddenly, there's a ragged scream, piercing the non-moving air in the room. I stiffen, and Skye appears unsure, which doesn't happen that often. Ever since I've started seeing him at school, he's always calm—and almost always in company of one or many members of his fan girl club.

Footsteps echo from the hallway, and quick, thin shadows block some of the meager light coming in from under the door. I get up, and, after checking that there's no one in the hallway, I slip into the corridor and hurry in the direction of the rough, sawing sobs. It's coming from the ward.

No one notices me as I enter, but I nearly ram into someone, and, after apologizing profusely, gaze around to find a large crowd of people who are pushing to get to the front.

There's another scream, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. I push between people—I can hear a few muttering curses—until I get close enough to see what's going on. But, some things are better off unseen. Oh, how I wish I had an 'erase' button.

A lady, whom I recognise from my earlier search for my mother, is on her knees, still in her white Hospital gown. She looks as if she would fall down if it weren't for the Law Keepers on either side of her, holding her up. They're both stern-faced, but the lady is clawing at their arms, tugging to get free, trying to struggle towards another Law Keeper. She looks insane to me. Insane to me, that is, until I notice what the man is holding: a small baby, swaddled in blankets, oblivious to his mother's pleads for him.

"No! No! Don't take him! Please! My sweetheart, my little b-boy..." Tears start pouring down her face and the Law Keepers start leading her away. She starts screaming until her voice is raw, and continues screaming as she struggles frantically, desperately, as they slowly pull her away, the other Law Keeper passing the infant to another Nurse, who goes into a Changing room. The mother's tears become thicker.

They finally manage to drag her out of the room, but her keening wails remain, along with her last plead: "No, don't Change him! You're going to hurt him! He's perfect the way he is! Please, don't! No!" The sudden silence is deafening. Then there's murmuring from around me, and the place is back to its normal noisy hubbub. Like they forgot already.

I turn around and find Skye, who seems completely shell-shocked by the whole thing. When he notices my staring, he grins flirtatiously, but it doesn't seem meaningful. Then he makes his way over to where his father is, who seems at ease, even content. He's even smiling.

I head off to find my mother, who I find quite easily. She's staring off into space until I snap her out of it to ask what had happened.

"The lady, Gemima—the poor soul—didn't want her son to be Changed. Everyone thinks she's insane, but she's not, so they're having her executed publicly to show what they do to dissenters of the Shade Law." She shrugs, as if she were only talking about the weather, not about someone getting killed to drive home a message. And only because she wanted to protect her child.

I nearly gape at her, but instead ask, "When will the execution be held?"

She glances at her watch. "In about ten minutes."

"Can I go?"

She pauses, not expecting this question. She looks at me strangely. "There will be blood, you know that."

I nod, but I wasn't leaving it at that. She sighs and places the clipboard she's holding on a nearby desk to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Well, the viewing will be on television anyways, so I don't see any harm in you going. Just remember that I will not be going with you."

* * *

><p>The crowd pushes me and I shove back. I want to get to the front. I want to make sure that I wasn't imagining such horrible things. I want to protest, to complain, to object, but what good would that do? Two people would be dead, possibly four if they thought I got it from my parents.<p>

There's a loud _bang _from the stage and everyone looks up at Mr. Blackthorn, who stands at the podium. A Law Keeper beside him lowers his arm, gun in hand, smoke rising from the barrel.

"Greetings, citizens. Today we come to watch the execution of Gemima Stone, traitor to the Government." The crowd cheers, and between bodies, I see Gemima, standing near the stage, her face somber and sad, but the guards are not by her, which puzzles me. Then I see the rifle trained on her skull from the stage.

I start to slowly make my way to her, and when the man with the gun turns his attention to something else, I walk up to her and tap her on the shoulder.

She jumps a foot in the air and whips around, her eyes narrowed; her hands are bound. "Who're you?" She demands. Gemima, her eyes still bright from tears, glances around suspiciously and whispers, "Are you one of them?"

I shake my head in confusion. "What? Them?" I pause to see if she'll answer, but when she doesn't I continue, "Never mind. What happened? Why are they executing you?"

She turns around, like she hadn't heard me. I reach out to try turning her back, but she glances back at me and says through her teeth, "Pretend you don't hear me. I don't want the Law Keepers to shoot you." I nod. She starts her story, and I can see her shoulders start to shake. She's still terrified, I can tell. But not of what will happen to her, but what will happen to her son.

"My baby...my boy, I only wanted to protect him. And what do they do?" She asks, her voice breaking. She takes a few seconds to calm herself. "They take him away and have me killed, that's what they do! They aren't having any trial, no defence, no _logic_. I'm not even a loud to fight for my life!" She shakes her head sadly, but doesn't say anything more.

I open my mouth to say something in reply, but suddenly, two Law Keepers appear out of nowhere and grab her arms, starting to pull her up onto the stage. She doesn't scream, and I think I know why: they can make her go, but they can't make her go without her dignity. She was having the last say; she wasn't going down without a fight, even if it was only to not do what they wanted her to do.

Sometimes, I wish I were as brave as her, but I'm not even brave enough to protest a mindless death. Not even enough to save her child, to fight for him instead of me.

Mr. Blackthorn seems absolutely pleased with the whole fiasco, smiling despite his attempts at being serious. On the other hand, Gemima is stone-faced, her eyes wet, but no tears are falling. When asked what her last words would be, she says that she wants her son to know about her. To learn about his own mother's death; she wanted him to know that she was dead because she loved him, that it was the Government's fault.

I don't want to look, so I turn my face away as two loud _cracks_ resound around the stage. Mr. Blackthorn—whom everyone, from now on, shall address as _President_ Blackthorn—lowers the smoking gun, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.

Gemima Stone is dead.


	4. Show Time

The Shade Law

Chapter 4: Show-Time

The crowd goes crazy as Gemima's body hits the stage. Her eyes are closed, that I'm thankful for. What I'm not thankful for is the ghost of a smile on her face. She's smiling, as if peacefully, but that doesn't fit the way she went. She'll want her son to have the best life he can, if that's possible as an orphan. President Blackthorn blows away the smoke from the barrel, like in those really old Western movies you see in Media Study.

Law Keepers rush onstage and start dragging her body off, leaving smear marks from the blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. Her neck is at an odd angle and she's on her stomach, arms splayed out in beside her. There are two entry wounds from the bullets—one on her back, the other in the base of her head.

Again I'm reminded of her young child, probably still at the Hospital, still wrapped in the blankets he was held in by his mother. He's probably Changed by now, the least favorable dyes poured into his veins, the last visible links to his mother wiped clean of his small body. His life as an orphan will not be easy; he will be put to work at the earliest time he's bodily able.

He'll work for almost nothing a day, barely enough to live on. He'll be forever branded as an outcast, a social pariah. He might not even be able to court a woman; many will see him as an unfit husband.

I look towards the gallows, grateful that she wasn't hanged. She wouldn't have broken her neck like hangings should cause, but would have choked to death. There's no one here who cares enough to speed along the process by pulling downwards on her legs, if she were hanged.

The funny—but not really funny—thing is that the man who designed the noose being currently used to hang anyone was specifically created to prolong the victim's suffering. They would not get a quick, easy or peaceful death. Skye's dad, the man who _smiled_ as he killed Gemima, is starting to scare me. Big time.

Speaking of Skye, he's standing by the stage stairs, grinning faintly, but it looks forced.

Death does that to people, doesn't it? Makes 'em _real _happy.

Blackthorn—he's no president to me—saunters down the steps, and when he's standing next to Skye—who's nearly as tall as him at eighteen—he claps him on the shoulder. Skye winces, but it doesn't seem to be from pain.

Families with children, among other people, are already leaving, dispersing like chaff on the wind, and between them, I meet two pairs of eyes I recognize. I sigh in relief. Celia and Muffy.

"Jill Brooks! Come over here this instant, or you're not getting that drink I promised!" Muffy giggles. Yep, that's Muffy, alright. She's talking about the drink she promised me the day I'm legal. Can't wait 'til 17.

When I make my way over to them, weaving between bodies, I strike up a conversation with them. Celia complains again about Marlin, while Muffy whines about her non-existent love-life. Anything to get our minds off the execution. For some odd reason, Muffy doesn't have a boyfriend, though she does like her workmate, a man named Griffin. Admittedly, they would be cute together.

I still don't understand why she's not dating anyone at the moment. She's pretty, that's for certain, with her blonde curls and green eyes. The only reason she has those colors in the first place is that she ran away from her rich parents' home, somewhere distant in the city, where they didn't care enough to put up a missing person's report. Now, she works as a barmaid at the Blue Bar. Thankfully, the bar doesn't have much in the ways of a violent reputation.

When Celia leaves, saying that her Aunt had told her earlier to come back quickly because she needed her assistance on the farm, Muffy turns to me, suddenly serious.

"I need your help." She states.

"What? Why couldn't you have asked when Celia was here?"

"You know Celia. She's too sweet to do this." She pauses long enough for me to worry as thousands of possibilities run rampant through my brain. "We got a note."

I blink. "A note? Why would you need help with a note?"

She glances around fervently, and I notice that the Blackthorn family has already left. The gun is left on the stage. "It's from the Phantom Thief."

"What? I thought he stopped his crime spree." I really did. Why would Skye start again now? And why a note?

Muffy shrugs. "I don't know what's going through that mind of his, but we got a note saying that he would come to the bar at midnight to steal some of our expensive wine."

I sigh tiredly. "And you're asking me because…? Why aren't you telling the Law Keepers?" I wasn't too keen on her telling, but what are we supposed to do?

She jerks her chin in the direction of the stage. "There's Lumina's case to attest to, and after that show, I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"What's Lumina got to do with this?" I ask, getting the feeling that I was being left out of the loop. _Again._

"She was beaten by them because she hadn't told anyone sooner. Didn't you hear? She was crying the day after, in class. There was even a huge bruise on her cheek!" When I gape at her disbelievingly, she nods furiously. "It's true. Not many people know about it. I only saw it because I just happened to be in the washroom when she washed off the makeup."

"Well, I guess you won't be telling them. But what happens if they find out? Aren't you scared?" I ask. I'm already picturing what her if they ever _did_ find out. I wince.

Her face is grim and serious as she says, "Let's just hope they never do." She pauses. "Well? Are you coming?"

I nod. What else could I do? Say 'no'? "Sure, I'll help."

She smiles brilliantly; it's the smile that she usually has on her face. I sigh in relief. "Thanks, Jill! You don't know how much this means to me. Come to the Blue Bar at…maybe ten o'clock to midnight. Somewhere between then would be good, since that's when the thief said he'd come."

* * *

><p>At eleven-thirty that night, I burst into the Blue Bar, panting from the sprint here. I gasp, "Guys, I'm so, so, so, so, <em>so<em> sorry! I lost track of time and—" I cut myself off when I see Muffy and Griffin leaning against the counter, looking bored out of their minds.

Griffin comes up to greet me. He smiles in amusement. "Don't worry, Jill. He's still not here. Maybe he forgot?"

Muffy suddenly sniffs the air, her lips pulling up in a dreamy smile, eyes closed contentedly. "Why do I smell curry? That smells so good!" She sighs, already heading out the door. Griffin stares after her, completely dumbfounded.

"Uh…Muffy, where are you going? The Thief's should be coming any moment now!" He follows after her, presumably, to get her back. I start to go after them, but when I get to the door, it opens so quickly that I get smacked in the face.

Stumbling backwards and rubbing my forehead, I grumble, "Watch where you're going, guys! You got me in the face." I take my hand away. I sigh, relieved, when I see no see no blood. What would my Mom say? Looking up, I'm ready to reprimand the two, but that's not who came in.

"We meet again, my darling Jill. I'm sorry. Didn't see you there." Skye bows, almost mockingly. At this moment, I hate him. Never mind the 'comfort' he gave me the last time I talked to him—if you can call it that at all—I hate him. "My mistake."

He seems to consider something. Smiling, he says, "Do you think it could be fate that has brought us together?"

Well, in reality, I wanted to say 'No, it was Muffy who brought me here' just to see his face, but I wanted to keep him distracted until Muffy and Griffin come back. Where were they, anyways? "Could it be fate?" I say, leaning forward a bit, raising my eyebrows. He laughs, blushing.

"It makes me happy to hear that from such a beautiful maiden."

I nearly roll my eyes at him. Where on earth did he get those pick-up lines? He seems to take my pause as if I am happy to hear that from _him_. He smiles.

"Anyways, I wonder if you could hold still for a moment."

The heck? Hold still for a moment? "Skye, what the hell do you mean by 'hold still a moment'? You're not making any sense—" Then there's a glint just in the corner of my eye. When I look down, I see a ring on Skye's third finger. The gem is like nothing I've ever seen: all swirling colors, like it contained a liquid rainbow. The most prominent color is a red-tinged pink, like diluted blood. I'm about to call him out on his choice of jewelry, but for some reason, the ring flashes. _It must be a trick of the light,_ I think.

My headache has returned, so I start to lift my hand up to try to rub away some of the pain, but—

"What—" I growl. Why can't I move my hand? Now that I try, I can't move anything! "I can't move!"

Skye starts walking towards the counter, and he disappears out of my peripheral vision, as if he doesn't notice my distress. His voice floats over from behind me. He must be behind the counter. "Just relax. You'll be able to move in a while."

I can almost feel steam coming out of my ears. While I fume in silence, I hear rummaging behind me, like he was looking through shelves. Suddenly, a question pushes itself out of my mouth. "Why are you a thief?" I ask, immediately kicking myself for even thinking of asking that. I didn't want to know anything about him!

The rummaging stops, and then continues after a lull. "Hm…I don't know why." He says, seemingly not taking the question seriously. Before I can think, I ask another question: "Is it just for fun?" The question seems reasonable, since he doesn't _exactly_ need to steal to survive.

The rummaging doesn't even stop this time, though it seems he's thinking about this one. "That might be it…and that might not be it." He chuckles. He's being infuriating, and he knows it and _enjoys_ it.

His head appears in my field of vision and I grit my teeth in rage. "You want to know more about me, don't you?" He says, smirking, as if he thinks he got it spot on. "But if I simply tell you, it will take the mystique out of our relationship."

"What relationship?" I snap, praying that Muffy and Griffin _come back soon_.Like,_ now_.

He's still smirking, and I can imagine him remembering our first meeting. He places his finger on his chin, as if he were pondering something. "I know, Jill. If you can catch me, I'll tell you anything you want."

I stay silent. Voices register in my head from outside. Muffy and Griffin finally came back!

"That's odd. I could have sworn that great smell was coming from here." That's Muffy's voice.

"Yeah. Let's head back to the shop." And that's Griffin.

Skye jumps a bit, and glances back at the door. When he turns his gaze back on me, he says, "Sorry, but I'm a bit pressed for time. Gotta jet! See you around, Jill."

He rushes out, just as feeling starts to leak into my limbs. Seconds after he leaves, I can move freely again, and Muffy barges in the door, followed by Griffin. I glare at them both.

"You left me alone. _And_, on top of that, the Phantom Thief just left." I say matter-of-factly. Why couldn't I just tell them who it was? It would make things a _whole_ lot easier.

"What? He was here?" Muffy asks disbelievingly. She zips past me, towards the shelves, and searches through them. "It's true! The Okuhattan's gone!"

When I tell them what happened, they seem surprised. Muffy seems to think it's magic.

Griffin sighs. "That's the Phantom Thief for you. His gears are always turning."

Muffy gives me a bear hug and holds me at arms length by the shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jill. I just left you all alone." She looks genuinely sorry, so I let it go.

Griffin nods and says, "And I'm really, really sorry. Thanks for your help today. Get a good night's rest."

Muffy stops me as I'm heading out the door. "What was the Thief like?" I snort and shake my head. She lifts an eyebrow playfully, and shove her away, laughing again. I head out the door and into the pitch-black night.

Green grass has finally started to push up between the snow drifts. I think I even see a snowdrop by Vesta's farm. All the lights are off on the path, not even a broken lamp to light my way. A stiff breeze blows past, rattling the newly budded tree branches. The wind is heavy with the smell of spring flowers and of the water off of Turtle Pond. Spring has finally come to thaw out Forget-Me-Not City, but I'm not interested in that. One strain of thought keeps bouncing around in my head as I walk down the old, cracked pavement of Outer City.

_What in the world just happened?_


	5. Cookies Work, Right?

The Shade Law

Chapter 5: Cookies Work, Right?

Morning greets me with open arms, it seems, for once. There are no fur-bags biting at my toes, no mother yelling up the stairs that 'I'll be late if I don't get up right now' and no rush to get up for school. _Ah, the weekend. _

Just as I'm about to curl up under my covers, a thought strikes me. _It's not the weekend._ Then there's a large cacophony of noise from downstairs—yowling and barking, I decide—courtesy of Oak, my dog, and Chime, my cat. A knock breaks through the clamor.

The hollow _bang _shakes me out of my lethargy, reminding me what time it is. Specifically, what day it is. I groan, my head hitting the pillows with a non-discreet _thump. _Spring Thanksgiving. The day boys at school show their 'appreciation' to the girls by presenting them with chocolate, in thanks to Winter's Thanksgiving, the girls' version of the festival. Great.

While not exactly a real holiday, thus not demanding a day off, the school does give in that respect. Classes begin at what would normally be our lunch hour. They're condensed to make sure we don't miss any of them. But I still have my shift at the Hospital.

Most boys only give chocolate because a) they want to score some points with their favorite, b) their forced to, because their mother does the whole guilt-trip, or c) because they _really _want to score some points with all the girls in town. (CoughRockcough) Then again, most don't do it at all.

It's ten o'clock, three hours past my usual wake-up call. But, what do you expect? I'd been _trying _(key word being trying)to stop a burglary last night.

While I tug on my jeans, another knock, this one _very_ impatient, empties into my room. Mom must not be here. The house smells like freshly baked bread and muffins, so she must've baked up a batch before leaving. As I pass by our small kitchen on the way to the door, I swipe a muffin from the bag. When I bite into it, it's still warm from the oven. Mmmmm.

Pulling open the door, Rock's over-the-top-smile almost blinds me. I'm kidding, but with those teeth, don't you think it's possible? He's holding a chocolate bar in his hands. The kind you can buy at the corner store. Put a lot of effort into it, didn't he?

"Hey, Jill!" He says, overly-happy, as always. "I brought you some chocolate, since you gave me some on Winter's Thanksgiving." I didn't really. He just likes to think so. Who am I to pop his wonderful, hopefully airless, bubble?

I take the chocolate, fake smile creasing my face. "Thanks." I say stiffly, stuffing the sweet into my backpack. Not exactly lady-like. "Off to see Lumina next?"

He blinks. "Lumina? Why would I do that?"

I nearly slap him, but, seeing as his father owns the nearby inn, where they serve the _best _food, I don't think that's a smart idea. "She's been hoping that you'd give her some."

He laughs. "Really?" He seems to think something over. "Well, I guess Nami won't mind not getting chocolate from me." He leans in, and stage-whispers, "She nearly kicked me last year. At least I won't get injured. Wouldn't want that, now would we?" Rock winks and leaves.

I sigh, remembering that there are six eligible bachelors around my age. Marlin, Rock, Skye, Carter, Griffin and Gustafa. Okay, for some you have to stretch it a whole lot, as in the case of Carter and Griffin, who are nearly eight years my senior. Good thing Flora and Muffy are older than me.

Since this 'city' (though, truthfully, it should be called a town) is quite small, I make it to the Hospital in a few minutes of trudging. The Head Doctor, a man named Hardy, seems quite displeased with one of his subordinates, Trent, when I get there.

Dr. Hardy lost an eye a while back—in fact, for as long as I can remember—in an accident, but that's not the only strange thing about him. Instead of going for the classic glass eye, he voted for a _robotic_ eye. It's really quite creepy looking, with the actual 'iris' is red as a cherry.

Dr. Trent, on the other hand, is, for a lack of a better word, easier on the eyes. Cloud-grey gaze, nightlock-black hair, slightly Eastern features. If I were to describe his personality in one word, it'd be 'studious'.

Hardy is giving him a tongue-lashing—Dr. Trent is calm, even under fire, not to my surprise—about something having to do with a procedure. What procedure, I don't know.

"That girl could've lived, if it weren't for your tardiness!" Hardy says, flinging his hands in the air. "And that boy! What if he gets it, too?"

"I don't know, sir." Trent says, his tone icy. "In my defense, I was taking care of the boy you mentioned, and I couldn't just leave him with Nurse Elli, not in his condition."

"Well—well—argh!" Dr. Hardy growls something inaudible and stomps away into his office, the door slamming behind him. Dr. Trent and I both wince. Sighing, Dr. Trent picks up a thick folder, tucks it under his arm, and walks down the hallway. A single sheet of paper drifts to my feet.

I pick up the paper, ready to call Trent back, when I notice a name. Stone.

Condition: critical. A virus is tampering with the colorings.

There's no first name, so I'm guessing that Gemima didn't get to name him before…_that._ I shake my head. _Don't go jumping to conclusions yet, Jill. You don't know for sure it's even her kid. _ I look up from the paper, already heading to the ward. Only one way to find out.

Room 204, neonatal ward, door unlocked. Wow, talk about good luck.

When I push open the door, I spot a young Nurse, probably only a year or two older than me, leaning over a crib, cooing to an oddly quiet baby. She starts when the door closes behind me.

Her name tag gives her away, proclaiming this girl's name is Elli. Her short brown hair and gentle eyes remind me of Gemima's. She smiles sweetly.

"Hello. May I help you?" She asks, still smiling, tucking her arms around herself.

"No, it's fine. I'd just like to visit the little guy." I say, nodding in the direction of the crib. I can tell it's the one I'm looking for from the patient plate.

"Oh," She looks surprised. "Of course. Just do be careful. He's very sick."

I nod, and, padding my way over, I lean closer to the baby, cuddled in his blankets. One edge is torn, like it was ripped. Ripped by pleading hands. I shudder. But I can tell that it is him. It's Gemima's child.

"If I'm not mistaken," I say, twisting a chunk of hair around my finger. "That's the boy of the woman who was executed yesterday, isn't he?"

Elli nods. "Yes." She glances at her watch. "But I think you'll have to go now. I'm about to head next door, on my rounds." She gently nudges me out of the way, apologizing, before tucking the blanket around the boy.

I straighten back up, and, sending one more backward glance, head towards the door and pull it open. But, before I leave, I blurt out, "What colors did the little girl that died have?" Me, hoping. Hoping that it's not what I fear.

Elli pauses in her tucking. "I believe she had green eyes and white hair." She looks up at me. "Why?"

I smile back at her and say 'nothing', before slipping into the hallway and into my mask of indifference for work. I knock away the urge to cry. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

* * *

><p>When I get home that evening, exhausted from work, school and holding in my feelings, I eagerly tuck into the meal Dad prepared for us. While we eat, he talks about the ink spill they had from the printing press at work, and Mom tells a very humorous experience—that happened today, if you can believe it—about why a bat shouldn't be living in the basement of the Hospital. When I head up to my room, a little past seven, my stomach is full and aching at the same time.<p>

I pick up a book I've been dying to finish, settle into my bed, Chime and Oak at my side, and—

The doorbell rings.

I ignore the sound, intent on the story, sure that my Mom or Dad will answer. That is until my father calls my name, saying it's for me. I groan, head _thunking_ against the headboard, but I get up, albeit a little reluctantly.

Stamping down the steps to show my disapproval, I march into the living room, pull open the door, and let my jaw drop. Holding a hand up to my visitor, I peer back into the house, close the door quietly, and step outside, hand on my hips.

"What're you doing here?" I hiss, clearly unhappy, but Skye seems in high spirits, as always. Joy.

"What? Can't I visit you, Maiden?" He smirks.

"No," I say, still glaring at him, hoping to burn through that thick skull of his. "Now leave."

He feigns hurt, but is back to his bothersome grin in an instant. "Really? Before I give you your Spring Thanksgiving present?"

It's my turn, again, to be dumbstruck. I laugh nervously, an annoying blush creeping its way onto my face. "I'm sorry; I must have not heard you right. I thought I heard you say that you're here to give me something for Thanksgiving." I pretend to knock out water from my ears. "What did you say?"

"You didn't mishear." He says. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands." I study him suspiciously, remembering the last time he ask me to 'hold still' as it were. But one glance at his hand banishes those thoughts, since he's not wearing the ring. So I close my eyes and hold out my hands.

There's the crinkling of cellophane, and then a weight in my palm. When I look, I can hardly believe my eyes.

Chocolate cookies.

Oops. I should've mentioned something. It doesn't have to be limited to chocolate. Anything chocolate related can be given, from chocolate cakes to chocolate bunnies, but everyone is in unspoken agreement that chocolate cookies are for when you like someone. Like, _like _someone. It's become a tradition at our school.

I gape at the cookies. "I—I can't accept those." I stutter.

He looks at me, still smiling. "Of course you can, Beautiful."

Shaking my head, I shove the package into his chest, not caring if he drops them or not. "No, I can't." I take a few steps back, hit the door. "I have to go. _You _have to go." And I make my escape before he can say a word.

* * *

><p>While I sit in my little corner of woe, I stagger through my thoughts. <em>Why me? He can have any girl in School! Why me? Does he even mean it?<em> Then I snort at my inner ramblings. I sound like I love-struck school-girl.

The room's feeling a little stuffy, so I open the windowpane and sit on my window seat. I dangle my feet over the edge, hoping to catch a breeze, until I hear crinkle. Like cellophane.

Feeling around my feet, my fingers brush against a plastic wrapped package. Taking it, I lift it up to the dying light of the sunset, and I realize it's Skye's cookies. The one's I refused. Attached is note. Short and sweet and to the point.

Happy Spring Thanksgiving.

-Skye

Sighing, I unwrap the bundle and pick up a cookie. I hold it up, studying it. _Free food's still free food, right? _ I take a bite, and then look down at the cookie again. Huh. They actually taste pretty good.

Tucking the package into my backpack, ready for school tomorrow, I hurry to get ready for bed, tired beyond belief, despite it being only nine o'clock. Snuggle under the covers. Finally go fall to sleep after a very puzzling day, the taste of chocolate still lingering on my tongue despite brushing my teeth.

My mind fuzzy, one thing comes to mind.

_Happy Spring Thanksgiving to you, too, Skye._

What? Can't I be nice for a change? Probably not, since I'm going to regret staying up tomorrow. Regret it horribly.


	6. The Goddess Pond

The Shade Law

Chapter 6: The Goddess Pond

This one time—I was maybe five or six—I was chasing after Oak, who was a puppy then. I tripped and fell, scraping my knee. I started bawling, obviously because of the pain of the actual injury, but the impact had also forced out all the air in my lungs.

When I ran home, Oak on my heels, my words came out as hiccupping sobs as I tried to tell my mother what had happened. You know the kind—the ones that you got over a broken toy or lost pet, when you were young enough not to care what you must look like to others.

That's what I feel like doing when I see Skye the day after Spring Thanksgiving: crying. It's not because I'm a wuss, no, but because there's this huge bruise on his face, almost completely covering his eye, but some of it sort of bleeds onto his cheek.

It's a weird shape, almost octagonal, but you can never really tell with this kind of thing, can you?

He's still smiling, despite his friends' looks and questions. Everyone wants to know what happened. His fan girls seem particularly appalled.

Muffy meets me in the hall after second, commenting, "Where'd he get that shiner?" She looks at me, like I would know anything about it. "A fight?" When I shake my head and shrug, we head off to class, on our way to pick up Celia so we can walk with her.

But, at Celia's locker, we stop a few feet away. She's talking to (gasp) Marlin, blushing a deep scarlet. He's blushing as hard as her, though. Noticing us, Marlin leaves, rattling off a string of pathetic excuses.

Celia barely waits until he's out of hearing range before exploding with happiness.

"He just asked me out! Just now!" Starry-eyed, she stares at her books, before hugging them to her chest. "Am I dreaming? If I am, don't pinch me." She glares good-naturally at us, and I hold up my hands innocently. Muffy just smiles joyfully, rolling her eyes at Celia's speech, and launches into her 'first date' lecture. The warning bell rings and we rush off to class.

Class starts off normally: everyone gets obnoxiously loud when we're supposed to work; teacher tries and fails to calm us down; the valley girls gossip and giggle; the boys laugh loudly. The usual. Until there's a message on the intercom, saying that every class must report to the auditoriums immediately. We're in the third one, the last group to get whatever message they're going to give us.

While we pile into the auditorium, I can see my teacher fidgeting nervously. I look at her suspiciously before my gaze is ripped away, so I can see where I'm going. I'm not exactly keen on getting crushed underfoot.

I lean back in the uncomfortable wooden seat, but for whatever reason, no one's talking. We can even hear each other breathing. Just as I'm about to go insane from the unsettling quiet, Blackthorn walks out on stage. There's a smattering of applause. He holds up his hand, and everyone goes quiet again. Not even a snicker.

He stares at us for almost a half a minute before saying, "What I'm about to say might scare, anger, or even excite some of you." A long pause. He leans in closer to the microphone. "Let's hope it's not the latter, for your sake and mine."

He takes a deep breath. "There's been a rebellion."

The room stays quiet for a good five seconds before erupting into earsplitting chatter. Question, comments, cries, tears, yelling, sobbing. Reactions ring throughout the room, people standing up and arguing with the people they were sitting next to peacefully just a few seconds before.

Blackthorn, my teacher and I are the only calm ones in the auditorium. Scratch that. My teacher's going a bit catatonic. Skye's father stands on the stage, examining the ring on his finger. From my seat—which, admittedly, is quite close—I can see, in detail, what it looks like.

The gem's octagonal, multi-colored (is it the same one from the robbery?) and has a crest etched on the face. Squinting, I can barely make out the design. It's some kind of flower. A forget-me-not. Our crest.

For whatever reason, my gaze is pulled in a direction to my left. Skye sits nearby, eyes intent on his father, bruise still sitting on his cheek. My eyes hone in on a faint impression in the middle of the discoloration: what looks to be a backwards forget-me-not crest. My brain doesn't exactly want to put two-and-two together, but you can do the math, right?

A guy comes to school with a black eye, one with a faint impression in the middle of it, which just happens to match the one on the ring that his father is wearing. What are the chances? It's not like Blackthorn—I look over to Skye. Oh, Goddess.

Blackthorn holds up his hand again. The room goes quiet instantly. What in the world…?

"That's all, ladies and gentlemen. You are dismissed." He smiles at us. "Have a nice day, but please, do be careful."

* * *

><p>"Did you see Mr.—I mean, President Blackthorn?" Celia says to us, "He gives me the creeps."<p>

I nod. "Wouldn't want him mad at us, now would we?" What an understatement.

"Yep." They both say, nodding.

Muffy sighs. "Any of you up for helping me at the Bar?" She's looking hopeful.

"Nope. I have a shift." I laugh. "And I'm not going back there for a while, not after what happened last time." When Celia looks at me, I realize we still haven't told her. Oops.

"What happened?"

Muffy looks at me like she would like to murder me right then and there. "Jill helped me to try and catch the Thief." Shrug.

I cover my ears, ready for the storm. Celia's eyes go wide. "You what!"

I look at her with what I hope is a convincing innocent face. "I helped out Muffy…?"

"And you didn't tell me?" The angry glare is gone. Now it's replaced with a look of hurt. "Why didn't you?"

Muffy hugs her. "We didn't want you to get hurt." A tap on the nose. "'Sides, you wouldn't have the guts to do it."

Celia huffs and crosses her arms. "Would to." And then we all laugh at where our conversation went.

* * *

><p>Walking home from work by myself, since Mom had to stay for a while, I stop at the path that leads to the Goddess Pond. The night's still young, so why not? I haven't been there for a while.<p>

After dropping in quickly with my dad to say that I'd be going, (since he'd rip my throat otherwise for making him worry) I make my way up the path leading to the pond.

It's so peaceful here, sitting next to the circular, crystalline pool, under the boughs of the monstrous tree I named Oak after. It's also the only place in the city where wild forget-me-nots grow. I look around. As well as those weird looking flowers, the ones that glow at night. The fragrance floats in the air, lending its soothing aroma to the small clearing. It's so quiet that you can hear the rushing sound of the waterfall across the meadow.

Even though almost no one takes the time to visit this place, it has always been my favorite spot in the entire city.

I take a deep breath, the day's tension draining from my shoulders. The unmovable mask breaks apart. The long-dead smile comes back to life.

But then I stiffen as a twig snaps. A vague sense of déjà vu comes over me, and, going out on a hunch, I call out, "How you became the notorious Phantom Thief, I don't know."

A deep chuckle. "You know, you're very perceptive, Maiden."

My chin sinks to my chest. Of course it's Skye. I feel like looking up at the sky and screaming 'WHY ME?' but I don't think he'd appreciate that. So, I go with, "That's what they tell me." Bear it and grin, right?

Pebbles crunch underfoot behind me so I add, "What brings you here? This stalking me in the middle of the night is not exactly…attractive." Appealing to his ego=smart. But insulting it, well…that's just more me.

Another laugh. "Well, if you must know, I came to get away from my family for a while." His face ducks into my field of vision. "And, by the by, Beautiful, are you sure _you're_ not the one following _me_?"

I can't help but chuckle at his statement. "I'm quite sure. Who's the one who showed up on whose roof?"

A blush. I smirk, happy to finally have some useful ammo against him. Then again, that whole 'mock-then-freeze' thing is not going anywhere. This is going to be good.

"By the way, I wasn't exactly happy about being frozen, you know." I say, clicking my tongue for emphasis.

He gives me a sidelong glance, as if he can't possibly believe that I actually said that, but the remnants of his blush ruins the effect. "I wasn't going to take any chances, not after going through that much trouble of trying not to get caught." He sighs, and for the first time since he's arrived, I notice that his bruise is gone.

Even if I squint hard enough to give me a headache, there's not a hint of discoloration. Like it's been days since I've seen him, not mere hours. A bright glint catches my eye. He's wearing the ring.

I jump to my feet, defenses up, ready to scream if necessary. _He's not getting the best of me again. _

Skye looks up at me, surprised by the sudden movement, but the look on his face makes me think that he's been expecting this.

"You remember this ring, Beautiful?" He says, yawning. _He looks like he's about to collapse,_ I realize. _But he wasn't this tired at school. So, what gives?_

"Yes, of course." I say carefully, watching his face. "Why wouldn't I?"

He studies the ring, just like his father did. "Well, it's quite unusual for someone to realize what the ring does, Maiden." He looks at me, a half-smile pulling at his lips. "Most assume it's just magic."

"You know what they say about 'assuming'…" I mutter. Where's this going? Why would he wear the ring, anyways? Glancing down at it, its color changing to a dark blue with a hint of rose, I glare at the ring, like my gaze alone would shatter it.

Skye gets up, making me jump and lose my balance, but he catches me by the arm before I can fall. I jerk away from his grip. "Don't touch me." I hiss. "And I'd like some answers. What the hell does that ring got to do with this?"

He looks lost in thought for a few seconds before coming back to reality. "I guess I owe you that much, huh?"

I nod, staring him down. After a long pause, I say, "Well?"

He sighs tiredly. "It's not as simple as you might, think, Beautiful." When I continue glaring daggers at him, Skye says, "You're right to think that it is the ring that allowed me to freeze you. You noticed that my bruise is gone, right?"

I nod. "The ring again?"

"Yes, though I don't know how it works."

That makes me pause. Skye doesn't usually admit that there's something he doesn't know about; it's not in his nature. So this must be something big.

"How'd you get that bruise in the first place, eh, Pretty Boy?"

He sighs again, seeming to lose his remaining energy. His face grows darker. "I don't exactly want to talk about it." Skye turns away. "I should be going; Father will be worried if I don't come home soon."

I nod unconsciously, staring after him. Then I realize that he still hasn't told me much! I groan angrily. But, of course he wouldn't. Wouldn't want the mystery to dissipate, now would we?


	7. A Poison Tipped Promise

The Shade Law

Chapter 7: A Poison Tipped Promise

Lifting himself—without assistance—into a sitting position, Leith, Gemima's son, smiles his childish grin at me. I return the favor, albeit a little nervously, since I'm not exactly used to his sped up aging.

I lean back in my chair, Leith going back to his toys, and think about what they told me. They said that it was caused by the virus, that it had not only messed with his colorings, but with his genes, as well. Now he grows like a pup: accelerated childhood, slowing down near his teens, and dying after a short fifteen to twenty year lifespan.

But they also said that we should be grateful that he's even alive—many children that caught it didn't live long enough to see their parents again. I don't know what to think.

Across from me, the door opens, revealing Elli. She thanks me for watching him while she left for a few minutes, bidding me a good day at school. I nod in her direction, taking one more glance at Leith, before walking out of the room.

I remember when I first heard that he was named; I thought the name Leith suited him. Then I saw him and nearly flipped out on them, about to say that this wasn't the same boy, that this couldn't possibly be Gemima's child. What happened to his brown hair and eyes, replaced by a glowing red gaze and a black mane of unruly hair? What happened to that sweet face, rounded by baby-fat? Why did he suddenly look like a two-year-old?

It was the virus, nothing more, nothing less. Don't make it out to be something it isn't, they said.

_Well, don't make him out to be a person he isn't._

That and many other thoughts I want to so badly say are filed away, somewhere where they won't bother me. Much.

* * *

><p><em>Why do teachers have to give you so much homework?<em> I think, hauling the backpack filled with the aforementioned cursed books and binders. I almost topple under the weight before I'm able to straighten up, grumbling under my breath.

_This is going to be so helpful for my back._

I slip into the river of people slithering out of the school, students eager to leave, already planning their nights, their parties. Which I won't be invited to, of course. Not that I mind; I like to pass my tests, thank you very much, and studying helps.

The scene outside the school stops me in my tracks, though.

Blackthorn, who I don't remember seeing around the school so much, is standing at the doors with his wife Isa. She's looking ashen, sickly even. Blackthorn, on the other hand, is healthy as a bull, and as angry as one.

He towers over her, rage written all over his face. His mouth contorts with a snarl, but he's not yelling. He's whispering to Isa, words that I can't hear, but she certainly can, judging by the way her pasty complexion is paling even further. No one's noticing, or refuses to.

Right as I'm about to do the same and walk off like I didn't see anything, seeing as how I remember what happened last time, I notice Skye coming out of the school. He spots his parents, and, being completely different from us normal people, makes his way over, eyebrows pulling down in determination.

"Father!" He says, stopping just feet away from where I stand. I gape at him, but people just continue walking past, parting around me like a stream around rocks. Skye glares venomously at his dad, stepping in between the two. "I think that's enough."

Blackthorn joins me in my stupefied state, staring at his son. Then, the anger directs itself in an entirely different direction—at Skye. "Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that!" He says, stepping closer to Skye, hands balling into fists. The ring he wears glints in the late afternoon sunlight.

Skye takes notice of it as well, flinching despite himself, his bravado falling before being built up again. He stands his ground, glaring right back at his father. They stay that way, father and son, staring daggers at each other. I'm almost scared to walk between them, they look so close to a fight.

Finally, Blackthorn, still glaring the whole time, leans just a little closer and growls, "We'll _talk_ about this later." But even to me, that sounds as much a threat as a cobra hissing its warning. A poisonous promise that he _will_ keep.

I can see Skye swallow nervously, but he doesn't let the fear show in his eyes. He watches his father stalk away, Blackthorn muttering curses and oaths under his breath. I wince as he brushes past.

Skye turns around, facing his mother, who's crying quietly into her hands. He enfolds her in a wordless hug, and she clutches at his sleeve, burying her face in his shoulder. I'm almost embarrassed, standing there; it seems to be such a personal moment that I feel like I'm intruding. I take my leave before I'm noticed.

* * *

><p>I visit Leith again before I leave work; he's grown a bit again. What should have been a month or two has been transformed into a few hours. Elli still seems puzzled by the whole thing.<p>

Muffy and Celia ask if I want to accompany them into town, to pass some of my spare-time at the bar. I refuse, since I know for sure that Dad would not approve. I don't need him to be on my case; I'm already in trouble with the whole Printing Press Fiasco. Don't ask; let's just say that I'm no longer a loud to come to work with him anymore.

So that leaves me with two options: Goddess Pond or room. Hmm. More like, stuffy four walls where my Mom might potentially barge in to remind me to do my chores, or an empty, sweet-aired meadow with a pond. Which would you choose? Do I need to even say it?

Goddess Pond it is, then. Even if there is a chance of seeing a certain pain-in-the-neck.

Again, I sit by the pond, but this time, I'm careful to stay out of sight. I even go as far as to cover my footprints. I don't want anyone bothering me. Not now; not while I sort through my thoughts.

But that doesn't stop someone if they're determined enough, right?

Judging by the apparent ease Skye finds me with, I either crash through the trees like a drunken moose or I'm just not that good at hiding my tracks. Neither thought sits well with me, that's for sure. Well, when life gives you an opportunity, you take it, I guess.

While he sits off to the side, closer to the pond, I stare blankly at the ice-colored water. I can see all the way to the bottom if I want to, but that's not the next comment that I make. It goes more like, "I know you don't want to talk about it, but would you tell me how you got that bruise?"

Skye laughs dryly, the sound making me think that he didn't find it in the least funny. He looks up at me, taking his eyes off his shoes. "It involves you, so I might as well, right, Maiden?"

I don't know why, but I give a sigh of relief when he uses his little...would you call them pet names? Endearments? Whatever. "What? How in the world does it involve me? It's not like I'm the one who hit you, or something."

Skye shakes his silver bangs out of his face; vaguely, I think that it's the first time that I've seen his entire face, without it being obscured by his hair. "More than you think." He says, leaning on his arms, gazing down at his reflection. A dog-tag necklace hangs from around his neck. "Do you remember Spring Thanksgiving?"

How could I forget? "Sure. Of course."

He shrugs simply, tossing a small pebble into the pond. "Father found out." Another pebble follows the first. The ripples shatter our images in the water.

I stare at him. "What? That's it?"

Another shrug; another pebble. "That's it, Beautiful." He looks up at me again, his aquamarine gaze more dull than playful. "That's it." He goes back to pebble-tossing, occasionally stealing glances at me.

I fix my eyes on the ripples in the pond, taken-aback. What kind of person beats their own flesh and blood because...what? They like somebody? They have the guts to say so? Apparently, Skye's living with that kind of person. A horrible sense of guilt steels over me. Why did I have to be so difficult when he gave them to me, when he was risking so much to give me those cookies?

I suddenly need to apologize. "I'm sorry." I say. A sorry. That's all I can give, really, but it seems so inadequate. I can't take back the pain, I can't undo what he suffered, and all I can say is 'sorry'. What a paltry, laughable excuse of a compensation. Useless.

He doesn't seem to think that, though, judging by the way a blush makes its way onto his face. He laughs genuinely, side-swept bangs falling in front of his eyes again. I blow air up at my own fringe, frowning at the tresses.

"No need to say sorry, Maiden. It's not your fault."

I nod. "Sure as hell it is. You got hit because of me." That stops Skye, and the look from yesterday comes back. Like he didn't want to remember. I play with my pony-tail nervously. It comes undone, and I glare at the ribbon as it comes off in my hands.

"Well, I'm happy that it wasn't _you_ who got hurt." He says quietly, still not looking at me. I glance up at him quizzically. The comment was barely audible; so much so, that, in fact, I'm not sure if I was meant to hear it, or that it was even there at all. He notices my look and quickly excuses himself from our conversation, saying that he should get back.

_I'm happy that it wasn't you who got hurt. _

Yeah, but at who's expense?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hi, guys! Sorry I havn't been talking much. Oh my God, I got doubled-digit reviews! Thank you so much! And, speaking of reviews, there's been a question that I'd like to answer:<strong>

**Q (From Luna): _I mean.. 'The Shade Law' how did you come up with something as unusually awesome as that?_**

**A: Haha, well, I was thinking about how on earth did some of the Harvest Moon characters get their hair and eye color. And, thanks to my weird thought process and the new release of _The Hunger Games Movie, _this was born. And, now, I have a question for you!**

**What are your thoughts on Blackthorn? What do you think of his personality? His actions? If you were to ever meet him, what would you do? (This doesn'y have to be about Blackthorn; choose whoever you want from the story! I just especially want your opinion on Blackthorn.) **

**Thank you for reading through my unbearably long author's note! You diserve a cookie!**


	8. Pitfalls of Popularity

The Shade Law

Chapter 8: Pitfalls of Popularity

"Come on, you have to go!"

I sigh and rub my forehead. "For the last time, Muffy, Celia," I say, glaring at them in turn, "No."

Ignoring their whines, I'm about to close the door to head upstairs to nurse my headache when a sudden iced-over dark feeling hits me from behind me, from inside the house. I turn my head around and let out a sigh of relief. It's only Mom. Then I notice the stern look she's giving me.

"You are going, Jillian Brook," Oh, she's using the full-name card, is she? "Whether you like it or not. You have spent far too long, to my liking, in that room of yours."

I return the glare, though I know it's useless; no one ever wins arguments with Mom—not even me. "But—"

"No 'ifs', 'ands' or 'buts', Missy."

I groan. Muffy and Celia stifle giggles behind their hands. Switching my glower onto them for a split-second, I say, "I don't exactly want to go; there's a frickin' rebellion going on!" _And I don't have anything to wear,_ I realize happily. Surely if she doesn't care about by previous statement, she'll understand that, right? I glance at her face. _As if._

An odd look comes over Mom's face. "No. President Blackthorn is just scaring you kids into not causing mischief." When I look at her, she's back to her normal self. Must have been my imagination, then.

I cross my arms and lean against the doorpost. "I give up."

Muffy starts squealing and gives me crushing bear hug. Celia, being calmer, says 'yes', and then covers her mouth as if she just cussed. I smile faintly at her, rolling my eyes. She can be such a kid sometimes.

"Don't worry about what you're going to wear, Jill," Muffy says after she lets me go. I rub feeling into my arms, grimacing. Yay, me. "I've got it covered."

"Whoop-dee-doo." I mutter, walking after the two. "Can't wait 'till tomorrow."

"Beach day's fun, isn't it?" Celia comments, adjusting her bandanna. She's smiling happily.

_Sure is._

* * *

><p>"Lady, why do you keep visiting me so much?"<p>

I glance up at Leith with his toys, ripped out of my thoughts. "You don't have to call me 'lady'. I'm only 16." Though, that's only a year away from legal marriage age. Who's idea was that again? "Why do I visit you so much? Well, I met your mother before you came here."

That gets him talking. "You knew Mom?" When I nod, he all but jumps on me. "What did she look like? Can you tell me about her?" I manage to put him back onto the floor, though my throat closes up. What could I tell him? That his mother died...like that?

"Well," I manage to get out past the lump in my throat, "She was very pretty. She had the same eye and hair color as Nurse Elli." I think a bit, try to blink back some of the angry tears. I hate the Government right now. Why would they kill her? "She loved you very much."

His eyes shine with the news, his five year-old grin flaunted on his face. "She did? She really did?" He hugs me when I stand up, clinging to me like only a young kid can. I almost choke on the lump—no, bowling ball—in my throat.

"Hey," I say softly, unwrapping his arms from around my waist. He looks up at me. "I have to go. I'll come back later, okay? Don't worry." I ruffle his hair and give him another hug. As I close the door, he waves at me. _Poor kid._

* * *

><p>The next day, I stare incredulously at the bathing suit Muffy holds up. "You want me to wear...<em>that?<em>"

When she giggles, nodding her head that, yes, she wanted me to wear that, I take the fabric in my hands. Well, what fabric there _was _to hold.

Okay, I'm over-exaggerating, but only by a little bit. It's a bikini, the color of a burning fire with white flowers designs, but what the heck? I don't like wearing swim suits, let alone this scrap of fabric. Celia pops her head in through the door. When she catches sight of the bathing suit, she smiles.

"Don't be silly, Jill! It's fine." Muffy says, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, her hair missing its usual hair band. "It's not like it's only a string. Besides, you'd look good in orange."

"Yeah, Jill. You would." Celia says. I give her a 'thank-for-the-support' look before sighing in defeat. Grabbing the hanger, I look around. "Where's the bathroom?"

* * *

><p>The wall of noise hits me the second I walk onto the beach. I look around, trying to take everything in.<p>

The teenagers are playing volley-ball. Rock is among them, falling face first into the sand after getting smacked in the head by the ball. Nami, the one who threw it, looks not in the least sorry. Kai, in company of a pink-haired girl I vaguely remember, is warding off what seems to be the girl's brother. That's it: Rick and Popuri.

Over to the left, Kate and Hugh, our resident pests (their only 7; imagine what they'll be like when they get to be teenagers) are bugging Lumina as she helps Rock back to his feet. He thanks her reluctantly and she blushes hard.

"Jill!" I start at the voice. Muffy..."So glad you came! Come on, come on, we're sitting over there." She says, pointing towards where Celia's shaking out her towel. I tug at my shoulder strap under my t-shirt; why did this bikini have to be so darn uncomfortable?

As we walk past the game, Gustafa appears from behind Nami and drenches her in a bucket-full of water. Nami gasps and, growling, takes after him, Gustafa laughing all the while. Nami nearly rams into me, but continues after him, not so much as an apology sent my way. I shrug it off. That was Nami; you couldn't do much to change her.

A girl I don't know—one of those people I know go to my school, though I've never met them—sits near to where Celia rests, staring dreamily to the right of the beach. Her friend, a blonde, stares at the same place. I take a quick look over my shoulder, in the direction of where they're looking and I nearly double-take. Or groan in annoyance. Probably both, I don't know.

Skye, in company of friends and fan girls (duh; who else would be with him?) laughs at whatever joke they just shared. Taking my seat next to Celia, my back to the group, I peel my cover-up shirt off me, frowning at the cloth, like it should burst into flames. _Like I would be that lucky._

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon winds down pretty quickly with a water-fight, courtesy of some kid dropping a girl into the ocean (it was funny until the girl decided to get revenge—she can't aim) and an all-you-can-eat from Kai's Snack Shack. And, yes, I'm serious; it's called that.<p>

While most head home, the teenagers, true to stereotypes, stay and light a small bonfire. Boys offer to walk their interests home, and most—not Nami; she's still grumpy at Gustafa—agree graciously. After a while, the only ones left are me, Celia, Muffy, Marlin and Griffin. Oh, and Skye. Yay.

Skye sits off to the side, out of his element, as the rest of us sit around the fire. He stares at the ocean as it pulls in and out on the sand. A few times, I look over my shoulder at him sitting there by himself, and the familiar feeling of guilt washes over me. Me? I can live without social interaction. But him? He seems to thrive off of it. So I join him at the water's edge.

The moon peeks out of the thick clouds, lending its light to the sea, turning it burnished silver. I pull my towel tighter around my shoulders, shivering as a night breeze passes through the fabric. The hum of conversation seems distant as I gaze out at the horizon. I guess this is why Kai spends most of his time here.

"It's not polite to ignore the conversation, Maiden."

I smile. "I could say the same thing to you." I say, sitting myself on my towel. "Guess that makes us not that different, huh?" Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Skye smile softly, eyes still on the ocean.

"I guess so."

"You know, I think you might have two more admirers." He looks at me strangely; I laugh at his confused face. To clear up what I meant, I add, "Earlier, two girls were staring at you from across the beach."

Skye chuckles. Mussing his hair with his fingers, he leans back on his arm. "Well, I think I have one too many of those. I'm flattered, but it's kind of getting annoying."

Now it's my turn to be confused. "How is being popular—admired, buddy—annoying? Try living my life."

He shrugs. "Once in a while, I just want some real friends. And," He says, looking at me from behind his bangs, "Before you say anything, Beautiful, I mean _real,_ not the ones that I have who are friends with me just because of who my father is. I want, referring to the case of those two girls, people who like me for reasons that are not my 'looks'." He even adds air quotes to his speech.

That really gets me thinking. Who would've thought that he's...you know...human? But that statement says exactly that.

"You know, you're not as bad as I thought you were." As soon as the words cross my lips, I want to get rid of the blush that rushes to my face. "For a thief, that is."

A distant call—a seagull—shatters the calm of the soft dark. A wind kicks up the sand, and I blink away the particles. Despite the noise and dust obstructing my view, I can hear Skye's statement before everyone heads home.

"That's all I wanted you to realize, Maiden."


	9. Funny Looks and 'Thank Yous'

The Shade Law

Chapter 9: Funny Looks and 'Thank Yous'

It's only been a few days since the Beach Day incident, but the changes are really…big, to say the least. If you listen really hard at night, for instance, you can hear the distant booms of air raids. People from Outer City, including Muffy, have been congregating to the center of the city-town, but we're closer to the middle, so we don't have to leave—yet.

Among other things, we have TVs for updates on the uprisings at school.

As I'm eating lunch—sitting with no one, because Celia's busy with homework and stuff—I notice a crowd gathering at the TV near the staircase. When I get up and walk over, tossing wrappings into the garbage, Muffy comes up to me.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" I ask, trying to see past people's heads, "Because I can't see a thing."

Raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow, Muffy says, "Are you really that short?" I give her a sidelong glance, conveying 'look-who's-talking'. She's only taller than me because of those five-inch heels, okay? Never mind that I can't even _wear _heels.

"Ha-ha," I say sarcastically, "Will Ms. How's-the-Weather-Up-There tell me what's going on?"

"Well," Muffy laughs, completely unaffected by my verbal jab, "There's another raid on Outer City. It won't bother us."

I raise an eyebrow at the crowd, which still stays at the TV. "Then why is everyone so interested?"

Muffy shrugs, causing her light blue sweater to fall off one shoulder. Tugging it back up, eyes lighting up with a mixture of realization and memory, she says, "Oh, right. Duh. President Blackthorn just came on. Something about the Fireworks Festival being cancelled."

I frown. "Patrick and Kasey must be mad." I say, referring to the twin-brother pyrotechnics. They're eternally proud of their work at the annual festival.

"Actually," Muffy starts, leaning in to whisper, "There's rumors going around saying that there's going to be a festival, anyways."

"Even if Mr. President says 'no'?"

"Nope. Apparently, he's _letting _them, as long as they promise to make it smaller than the usual thing. Only the teenagers and young adults are coming. Or being told about it."

I smile, laughter bubbling up. "Either way, then, they're still going to be angry."

Smiling back, Muffy nods sagely, like she's really thinking about it. "True, true."

* * *

><p>When I get home that afternoon, I'm dreading the day's shift at the Hospital. I mean, who wouldn't? Actually, if you're a true member of the Government, the question would go more like this: Who would? But, as it seems, contrary to popular belief (looking at you, Celia), I don't have the worst luck in the world.<p>

"Honey," Mom says, twisting her head around to look at me, "There was an announcement at the Hospital earlier: Nurses don't have to come in past two-thirty, so you have a free evening."

I groan. "Great. I get to do homework." _Well, it's better than having a shift in the neo-natal ward, _I think.

Mom tsks, continuing to chop up the vegetables Celia must have dropped off earlier today. "Don't sound like that. Better grades mean better chances of getting accepted." She says, a delicious aroma filling the air.

I get up and walk over to our old gas burner. Steam pours out of the cast-iron pot before slipping out of a nearby-open window.

I take a whiff of the air. "Is that for dinner? Smells good."

Mom smiles, adding salt and tiny chunks of tomato. "Well, yes, some of it is. Can you bring some over to Vesta's after it's done? Thank her for the veggies, okay?"

I nod and we take our seats at the table to wait. Noticing the paper on the table, probably left by Dad from work, I ask, "Where's Dad?" An innocent enough question.

"Working." Mom says quickly, tugging at a piece of hair. Too quickly. And she always tugs at her hair when she's lying. I have the same annoying nervous tick, too.

I remember when I was younger, when we still celebrated my birthday pretty obviously, Mom would be the one who stalled and lied about where Dad was, while he was the one to prepare the actual party.

So—even if it's a stupid reason—I glance at the calendar to make sure that, yes, it's not my birthday. Why did I even check? It's in fall—October 24th to be exact—and right now it's only the 30th of June. Suspicion shot and killed in three seconds. What's next on the list?

Right as I'm about point-blank ask Mom, the door opens, cutting me off and ruining the chance. Dad comes in, and I resist the urge to snap at him. I have a temper, okay? It's something I need to work on. Maybe.

"Okay, Kiddo," Dad says, coming up to the table and leaning on the chair. Trying hard to bite my tongue, I notice that Mom's looking very relieved, like she's glad that Dad cut me off. Hmmm. I turn my attention on Dad again.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to be home for a few nights." As I'm opening my mouth to protest, he raises his hand, cutting me off. _Again._ "Night shift. David…left, so I have to take his shift, as well."

Mom nods, like she's completely fine with her husband not coming home until late. What?

"Sure." I mutter, only because Dad's as stubborn as Mom, maybe even more, and so he won't budge, ever, on this decision.

"Thanks for not making a fuss, Honey. We really appreciate your cooperation." Mom says, smoothing my hair like she used to do when I was a small kid and I agreed to go to school for the first time.

"Yeah, whatever."

Dad claps his hands together. "So, how's supper coming along?" He seems eager to change the subject. I notice a smudge of printer ink on the back of his hand and I shove away the smile that tries to surface. That was Dad, never really the neatest person on Earth.

"Oh! Yes, almost forgot…" Mom jumps up from her seat to shut off the stove, but it takes a few seconds for the gas flame to putter out. She stretches up to the top-most shelf to get a container, presumably, but she's too short and can only reach up to about two inches away from the edge of the shelf.

Dad comes over, takes down the container, and gives it Mom, smiling, laughter in his voice. "Why did you put it up there when you can't even reach it? Heck, how did you even get it up there?"

Mom huffs, crossing her arms, but I can see the faint grin on her face. "Well, there was no room on the lower shelves." They were always an odd pair. But I love them all the same.

She turns, grabs a ladle, and starts spooning the soup into the smaller pot. When it's ready, she hands it to me and shoos me out of the house, reminding me to thank Vesta. 'Be courteous, Jill.' Right.

The walk to Vesta's farm isn't long. I only pass by the Goddess Pond (not going) and the bridge that goes over the river where Dad and I go fishing sometimes, so we could have fish for supper. When I could catch anything, anyways.

"Oh, Jill, thank you." Vesta says when I tell her the soup's for her, looking up from a stubborn weed in her crop field. Marlin nods curtly in my direction, preferring to get back to his work, and Celia sets down the watering can she was filling to give me a grin and wave.

Vesta checks her watch, nods, and tells the two to start setting up shop. She means the small store they run in the building next to their home. She says that I can put the pot on the stove in their house while she continues working for a few more minutes before heading in after Marlin and Celia.

I nod and push the wooden door in with my shoulder, hands still clasping the pot. I set it on the stove and take a glance around the small home. Two simple beds rest in the corner, and I know there's a third upstairs in the attic-turned room.

I take a few minutes to recollect my thoughts so they don't eat me on the trip back home. I walk out of the house—

And into a very angry Marlin.

He's fuming, not even noticing me as he stomps over to the crop fields, probably to cool down. Celia runs out of the shop after him, concern lining her face.

"Marlin!" Celia calls, catching up and tugging on his sleeve. "Marlin, calm down."

I only have a second of confusion, wondering what could have possibly happened within the few minutes that I was gone. Marlin turns around, still angry, but I know he would—could—never hurt Celia.

"That," Marlin growls, thumbing over his shoulder towards the shop, "…customer quibbled over the crops you sold him!" He clenches his fists. "I'm going into town to complain."

Celia's eyes go wide. "Please, don't! It would be horrible if the shop's reputation suffered."

Marlin shoves his hands into his pockets, glaring at the river, as if contemplating his confrontation with the customer. His usually sullen eyes are practically spitting flames. "No! I won't allow that!"

And cue the puppy-dog eyes. "I'm not worried about it at all. So, please, Marlin. Calm down." Celia says, bending to look him in the eyes.

A long pause in the conversation makes me think he's not going to answer. Then he sighs. "Okay." He says quietly.

Celia smiles finally, catching Marlin's attention. "But, thank you, Marlin." Aforementioned black-haired farm-hand looks at her funny, probably thinking '_she's loosing it_'_._ Celia laughs nervously, her cheeks coloring. "For getting angry for me."

Now it's Marlin's turn to go red. He averts his green eyes to the ground. "That's okay." He starts fidgeting and says quickly, "Shall we go?"

Celia regains a little composure, the extra color fading from her face. "Sure."

Marlin waits for Celia to go ahead, and he follows right after. His eyes are still a little angry, but I have a feeling he's not going to pick a fight with customers for a while. I smile after them.

A muted tolling of bells from Mineral Town warns me of the time. Shoot! I glance at my watch to confirm reality. It's already six! I rush home, all thoughts flying away as I run. Mom's not going to be happy, will she?

* * *

><p>Maybe staying out late isn't a good thing. Mom got a little angry, for you-know-what, but Dad wasn't there. As I walk down the stairs, I spot Mom at the table, scrawling quickly onto a lined-paper notebook. She shuts it quickly when she sees me.<p>

I decide not to ask her about it. "Mom? There's work tomorrow, right?"

Again, she seems relieved that I didn't question her. "Yes. And school. So off to bed with you." She picks up her pen, but keeps her eyes on me, like she's waiting for me to leave the room. I sigh, nod, and go up to bed.

I can hear the hum of her conversation on the phone later, but I can't make out individual words. Probably talking to Dad. But all I can think of is the one phrase on the notebook I was able to tease out of the quick glimpse I got when she shut the notebook.

_Continuing to work for the Government—_

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! Sorry this is late; who hates writer's block? *raises hand* <strong>

**Anyways, this is sort of off topic (as in, not about this chapter) but is it just me, or is Skye out of character? I hope I'm just being paranoid or something, but your feedback would be helpful. Sorry about any tense issues in this chapter, guys; I uploaded it the same day I finished writing it and editing it. Hope you enjoy! **

**P.S.: To those who like Skye, he'll be in the next chapter. Bye!**


	10. Yep, I'm Screwed

The Shade Law

Chapter 10: Yep, I'm Screwed

I'm confused. Very, very confused.

We were studying animal life cycles in biology earlier today, and we were assigned animals for a project. I got dogs, coincidentally. I know a lot about them already—thank you, Oak—so I know most of what we're supposed to look up.

But it's the project that gets me confused. And thinking.

Even at a year—often older—dogs will still act like puppies, even if their full grown. It's almost like their brains haven't completely caught up with their bodies. But imagine the difference it is for a human, to grow from a baby to an adult.

So why isn't Leith the same? And what about his bones? Babies don't start out with two-hundred-six of them—in fact, they have more. They fuse together as they grow: a very slow, gradual process. So why aren't there any abnormalities with his skeleton?

Why isn't he complaining of pain? Okay, that sounds mean, but why isn't he reacting normally?

And I'm saying 'normal' as if he is. But what normal person grows this fast? He looks, acts, and reacts like a ten-year old now.

Like today. I have a self-appointed job to keep him company and to make sure he'll be fine once he goes to the orphanage in the middle of the city. Safest place around, they say. Yeah, right.

Not when the orphanage sits close to the building containing the city's firepower.

"Lady," Leith says after my shift, even if I keep reminding him not to call me that, "Can you help me with this problem?" His voice shakes a bit.

Did I mention he also goes to school? Regular school, the right grade for his age, and might even skip one, since he's getting such good marks? Now you see why I'm confused, right?

"Yeah, sure, Leith." I say, leaning over to read the text. My eyebrows pull together. "Why do you need help with this one? I've seen you do this question twice already. Perfectly."

Suddenly, there's a light weight around my shoulders. I glance over to my right, only to see Leith's arms around me. I follow his arms up to his face, which is buried into my jacket. His eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

"I just wanted a hug." He whispers, letting go to stare at his clenched hands. My features soften.

I tilt his chin up. "Why didn't you just ask? I would've given you one if you did."

He sniffs, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "I was scared that you wouldn't want to give me a hug, Lady. Like my teacher." He looks up at me. "Please, don't be mad."

_Poor kid._ I give him a hug, and he holds onto my jacket. "Of course I would want to. And about your teacher not wanting to give you a hug, well, you're...ten," I say, pulling back to look him the eyes, "And not many kids your age ask their teachers for hugs." I take back my 'reacts like a ten-year-old' statement. He hasn't been around other kids for too long, as you can tell.

His crimson gaze burns with tears, and a piece of hair falls onto his forehead. Already, I can tell he'll make a good-looking boy. Which makes me even guiltier that I couldn't help his mom, who would've wanted to watch him grow up. Though, in this fashion, I'm not sure.

He must be so lonely without her.

Nodding and wiping his eyes again, Leith pushes back his hair. I smile softly. "Who wants a visit from the tickle monster?"

His eyes are suddenly a little less sad. He mumbles something unintelligible.

"What?" I laugh, even though I know what he said.

He grumbles again, a small smile on his face, but this time it's very clear. _Not me._

"Well, too late!" I say, tickling him without mercy. He tries hiding his stomach with his hands and arms, already starting to giggle, but that only leaves his neck open. Even though he tries, a few minutes later finds him rolling on the ground with laughter.

"S-Stop...!" He breathes, doubled over, face red and grinning. I'm smiling so much that my cheeks hurt, and his laughter's contagious. I'm starting to chuckle until Elli comes in, smiling at the spectacle: a boy who previously was sick, laughing, and the person who made him laugh. A small coil of pride wells up inside of me. _I made him laugh! I really made him laugh!_

"Jill?" Elli says, fixing her Nurse's uniform, "Your mom asked if you could pick up some groceries on the way home. She's very busy with all the Changings."

The mention of Mom injecting another baby with colorings wipes the smile off my face just as quickly as if it wasn't there to begin with. Nurse Elli doesn't notice. Leith does. He frowns, his face still red.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." I grab my bag at the foot of the chair I was sitting at before, and I take one more look around the room that Leith will use until their done with observations. _Just making sure he's healthy._

Yeah, right.

Leith's eyes stay locked on me as I leave the room, follow my arm as I pull up my hood. His face is scrunched up with childish concern. Why was I leaving him alone? Again?

Yeah, I'm a horrible person. But that doesn't seem to bother me as much when my mind is filled with anger towards my mother. Why did she have to be a Nurse?

* * *

><p>So. How do you think I feel after my day was normal, then made and ruined in the span of a few seconds? I'm not very happy about it, if you can tell, but let's not talk about that.<p>

As I'm heading home, grocery bags heavy in my hands, I spot Muffy at the bridge. She's leaning on the railing, staring off to the horizon, eyes looking as if they're not really seeing anything. When she sees me, she smiles, despite the misty look to her gaze.

"Hey," She says, forcing a smile. The false happiness twists at my gut more than if she were crying. A distant memory of Muffy coming to my house, face tear-stained because she got her heart broken again comes to mind.

"What's up?" I ask, setting the bags on the bridge.

"Oh, just thinking. How was your day?"

I look at Muffy disbelievingly. "Don't ask me how my day was; you're the one who's about to cry. What's wrong?"

She turns her eyes back on the horizon, towards the river. "I got a wedding invitation from a friend."

My brow furrows. "Then why're you upset? Aren't you happy for her?"

She nods. "Yeah." Sighing, Muffy plays with her hair band. "I don't want to be a bad person or anything, but I'm a little jealous. I mean, she's getting _married_, while I'm here, every relationship I've ever had down the drain, you know?"

I nod. "Well, isn't that normal? I guess I would be sort of jealous if I were in your shoes." I pause, and then add softly, "Getting married is every girl's dream, right?"

"Yeah." Another sigh. "I guess I should head back home. See you, Jill." And she leaves before I can say anything more, even if I want to reassure her that she'll find 'the one', as she put it years ago.

These conversations always get me thinking, 'will I ever have someone to cry over like that?' But then my logical side thinks 'why would I even want that pain? I snort. Right. I'll totally be in a relationship sometime soon. As if.

I'm happy being the way I am. I don't need a guy to complete me.

I heft the bags again and amble down the road to my house, streets crumbling under choking weeds. I nearly trip over a loose stone on the trek. I grimace.

_Even when you're depressed and thinking, the world can always throw a stone on your path to trip you, can't it?_

* * *

><p>"Mom?" I call out when I get home, into the dark house. Not one light is on in the living room, my room, my parents' room, nowhere. Guess they're at work.<p>

I put the food away into the fridge and cupboards, and read the small note on the kitchen table.

_Be back later, Honey._

_-Mom_

Okay, so I got the house to myself. Not the best thing, when a...rebellion's going on. Leave it is, alright.

So I lock the door behind me and start to make my way up the path to the Goddess Pond. Third time's a charm, right?

Unfortunately, not true. Why is that he has to be here every time I come? Well, this time, it's me who finds him, not the other way around. When I ask the question stated above, his answer makes me slightly embarrassed in my assumption.

"I come here every day, Maiden." Skye laughs. "So you can stop guessing."

"Oh, you're a riot." I grumble, carefully sitting by the edge of the pond. It feels...weird to sit across from an infamous criminal. Like walking on nails. Or sitting too close to a stove. Or is that just because my face feels hot? "Very funny. Why do I even talk to you?"

He smiles roguishly. Uh, oh. "Because you li—"

"Nuh-uh, Pretty Boy. Don't even think about it. Don't you _dare _say the 'L' word." I cross my arms, and I consider at the possibility of leaving.

Skye smiles again. "Fine. Because we're friends."

_What?_ I nearly choke on my laughter. "Friends? I barely know you."

"So?"

That makes me stop short. Do I really want to agree to being friends with an annoying thief? What was it that I read somewhere? 'Trust people, but keep your money in your sock'? Yeah, that about sums it up. Trust others, but not so far as to be foolish.

Have faith in the genuine kindness of others, but don't forget that they could just as easily turn on you and stab the knife into your back.

_Be friendly, but don't give someone your heart._

If he wants the answer badly, then the wait before my answer must be hell for him. I shrug, to make it look like I don't really care either way.

"Fine. Friends it is, then."

Then the ever present voice in the back of my head asks, 'Will I regret this?'

The logical side of me, again, says 'hell, yes' while the other, more believing side says 'only time will tell.'

So, I have one question to ask whoever is listening:

_How screwed are you when both sides of you agree? _

Pretty damned screwed, if you ask me.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Mwahahahahah! two chapters in two days, written and edited! I'm guessing that writer's block's dead, isn't it? (Though I probably just jinxed it. :D)<strong>

**Hope you like!**


	11. Sweet Dreams

The Shade Law

Chapter 11: Sweet Dreams

School sucks. Period. End of discussion.

Well, to be fair, it's more the _people_ that attend it that suck. Specifically, the ones that only go either to gossip, talk about useless garbage, or, more commonly, make fun of those 'beneath' them.

But what I'd like to ask is: How can you be lower than a person who has to make fun of others to make themselves feel better?

Well, I certainly won't be asking the offenders. A group of kids was bothering Muffy earlier today. They kept telling her that 'she's _so_ pretty, that she has _such _beautiful colors, and why would she want to hang out with us poor freaks?'

I agree with point one and two, but, _excuse me? _Who're you calling freaks, Jack-O-Lanterns?

Yeah, that's right. We were being picked on by the carnies. Don't you just _love_ the Shade Law?

They also started to do what the adults are doing: really separating the social classes. That's why they started bothering Muffy more than usual. And also why the poorer kids started to talk about standing up to the rich brats, though they always were the submissive sub-group of the school. Like cattle.

The one that was the most annoying was Madelaine. She kept interrupting the Bio teacher when she was trying to teach us about organisms. _'Miss, don't you mean that people who don't have the right colorings don't really count?'_ What? We were talking about genes! Oh, wait. Genes. Colorings that only affect genes. . Right.

Anyways, pushing ahead (though I'd like to push _Madelaine_ off a cliff). After a brutal Math class, a very boring, very long Bio lecture and a shift at the Hospital, home's starting to look like a good prospect. Even if 'never-there' Mom _is_ finally there.

"Honey?"

I look up from my problem sheet, my glare turning into a look of curiosity. "Yeah?"

Mom, very frazzled and tired—but looking more like she used to—smiles crookedly. Her pen hovers over the page of _that notebook. _"Can you go ask Flora for the pan back?"

Well, she looks a bit better. I grin back, happy that she actually is in a better mood than what has become the usual. "Which one? The one she probably ruined?"

She puts on her mock-serious face. "Now, Jill. You shouldn't make fun of people."

"Even if they have horrible cooking skills?"

The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Even if they have horrible cooking skills."

* * *

><p>"Flora?" I call when I get to the dig site. "Carter?"<p>

I look around the small clearing, hands on my hips, trying to find the pair among the clutter. A claustrophobic tent dominates the far side of the clearing, right next to the waterfall. The same waterfall the borders the Goddess Pond.

"Guess they're not here..." I mutter, shading my eyes. A movement to the right catches my attention. Flora and Carter come out of the dig site (which admittedly looks more like a cave), the former looking worried while the latter looking angry.

"That two-bit, good-for-nothing, snake-in-the-grass thief!" Cater snarls. My ears perk up. Thief?

"Oh, Jill," Flora blinks, adjusting her glasses. Her violet eyes seem to focus. Carter continues grumbling behind her. "Didn't see you there." She looks behind her, at Carter, before a light-bulb goes on in that Ancient History teacher's head of hers. "Jill, you have really great timing."

Uh, oh.

"We got a note from the Phantom Thief," Carter seems to go redder in the face at the mere mention of Skye's erm...alter ego, "So, could you help us catch him?"

I know it's strange to be talking to your teachers outside of school, but Flora isn't much older than the classes she teaches. She's only nineteen. She skipped a few years to get a job this early.

That's also the reason why Carter's here; it's sort of like what they used to call student teachers, but they won't change classes. They're official teachers in the eyes of the law; seasoned veterans in dealing with us kids are just there to help them cope.

"Um, w-well, I'm not so sure..." Did I just stutter? Mary, our resident shy kid (she's very nice, though) stutters. But me? I don't stutter.

"Come on, please! It would mean a lot."

"Especially if that thief doesn't get his paws on the artifacts..." Carter growls, looking a little more determined. Well, I would too if those dusty stones were helping me find the tomb of an ancient ancestor/ancestress. Just don't call him crazy; he hates when people do that.

"Yes, we'll be set back for _days _if he takes our artifacts!" Flora says, starting to look a bit panicked.

"Sure. I'll help." _Should have thought that out first..._

"Thank you, Jill! Thank you so much!"

"Glad to hear it. Come back around midnight, okay?"

_Too late._

* * *

><p>So, later that night, I trudge up the path to the dig site tent. Carter and Flora are already there, talking about what might happen. How'd Carter get a machete?<p>

They start when I close the tent flap, the fabric colliding with a _fwump._

Carter lets out a sigh of relief. "Thanks for coming, Jill. The thief isn't here yet, so we might have to wait a while."

"He could take the whole night if he wants to," I say, crossing my arms, "My Mom's not home to care that I'm out past curfew." She won't even know I left. How sad is that, to not know that your own daughter took advantage of your absence? Well, since she's gone so much, I don't really feel all that guilty.

So we stand there for what seems like hours, but probably was only a half-hour, finally sitting down after a good forty-five minutes. I check my watch. _12:52._

Finally, Flora sighs quietly. "The Phantom Thief still hasn't shown up. Maybe he forgot."

Uh...Déjà vu.

We still sit there for a few minutes, digesting what she said, when Carter gets to his feet suddenly.

"That dirty thief! He could be stealing goods from the dig site at this very moment! Let's move Flora!" Carter says, and as they head out of the tent, he stops me on the way out. "Jill, we need you to stay here, just in case."

"Great." I mutter when they're gone. Me, alone again. When Skye said he'd come. Repeat much?

A voice makes me jump. "I had a feeling we'd meet tonight." I turn around, glare already on full.

"Don't _do _that!" I say, trying to steady my heart rate. Why couldn't he be, I don't know, _normal_, like everyone else, and give a heads up? But I guess you don't get to be a notorious thief with being normal.

I glance at his hand. The ring glistens in the moonlight filtering in through the cut-out that serves as a window. Skye follows my gaze. A small smile. "Don't be nervous. I won't use the ring."

I set my jaw. Why was I friends with him again? The annoyance and anger from a few weeks ago comes back, reminding me _'he's a thief, and since he's been living this double-life, he hasn't lived an honest a day in his life'_.

"I sent a note today, but I'm not here to steal anything." He smirks impishly. "I came here to see you, Jill." Skye puts his hands in his pockets, that annoying grin still on his face. "Jill. And I was hoping you would spend some time with me."

"Seriously?" I hiss disbelievingly. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean it's okay for you to stage a robbery every time you want my company." I harden my gaze. But what do expect from a thief? "No way."

A look of genuine sadness and hurt crosses his features. "...You're right." He turns away, sighing. Opening the tent flap, he adds, "Our worlds are just too different."

A sense of guilt washes over me, but I push it back. Why would I feel sorry for him? Let him go if he wants. Not my problem.

After he leaves—stupid conscious—Flora and Carter come in seconds later. I hold back my baffled stare. How come they didn't see him as he left?

Carter seems happy as he says, "He wasn't at the dig site."

_But he was here... _

"And he might be gone for good! Thanks for the help, Jill. Go home and get some rest."

Flora smiles. "Jill, have a nice night, okay?"

_But how can you have nice night when it feels like you're being eaten from the inside out?_

* * *

><p>Don't you just adore guilt trips? I think that's what the note is, anyways. I'm guessing he only left it thinking that I'd go with him.<p>

_I would've liked to walk you home, but a nice girl like you shouldn't be caught out with a thief._

_ -Skye_

Way to be subtle about your double-life, Skye. What if Mom had come in and had seen it? Where would you be then, hmm?

Okay, I've been mean enough for today, I think. I'm guessing I won't be sleeping that well tonight, will I? Not when I have this cold snake sinking its teeth into my gut.

And speaking of Mom, it turns out that her new work hours last until one in the morning. Well, at least that's when she comes home tonight. I gather my courage and walk down the stairs to talk to her.

"Mom?"

She jumps a bit. Seems like everyone's been doing that a lot lately. "Shouldn't you be in bed? You have school tomorrow."

I take a deep breath. "Yeah, I get it. I just want to know if this is going to become a regular thing." What joking smile I had before is gone, replaced by a frown. I'm getting answers, damn it.

"Don't talk to me using that tone of voice, young lady." She sighs tiredly, and I notice that bags hang under her eyes. "But, yes, this is going to be normal for a few weeks."

"Weeks? Mom, you can't be working this late and still have the day shift!"

She waves away my concern with a flick of her hand. "Don't worry. It's important work I'm doing, anyways." Like that condones it. Like it destroys the tiredness from her limbs. Like it's right.

I narrow my eyes, but in the shadows of the unlit room, I don't think she can see it. "What work?"

Mom suddenly seems to some back to reality. "You should be in bed." When I don't go, she says, "Come on, go."

So I sigh and head up to my room. As I'm gettin ready for bed, I mull over the conversation. Dissect it. Analyze every sentence, every word, every facial expression I could make out in the dark.

_Don't worry. It's important work I'm doing, anyways. _Defensive. Like she was trying to make it seem okay.

And when I asked her about what she was doing, which is kinda backwards, she turned the tables on me. So it seemed like _I _was the one doing something wrong. Okay, I went out past curfew, but does that mean I'm not her daughter, and that she can't tell me what could possibly be the reason she's not getting enough sleep?

"Right." I murmur, taking my hair out of its pony-tail. I don't even bother with putting the ribbon on the desk. A thought makes me stop and a curse slips out. I never did get the chance to ask for the pan back from Flora.

I just slip under the covers, then get back up when I notice the window's open slightly. Just stuck that way, though, so that gets rid of the suspicion of Skye coming in that way. There's a movement in the corner of my eye. A piece of paper.

Curious, I tug open the window and reach out to pick it up, since it's just fluttering around on the roof. When I read it, a smile curves it way onto my face, despite the coil of guilt in my gut.

_Sweet dreams. Good luck with your work._

_-Skye_

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! 3 updates in 4 days? Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, or, heck, even just read it. Thanks so much for the support! Special thanks to Pelkasauras -Cherry3456, who has reviewed almost every new chapter. I always look forward to your encouragement; it never ceases to brighten my day! Thank you, guys!<strong>

**(And about the chapter, you guys don't mind that Jill said the wrong answer to the heart event, right? I know you love me! D: Don't kill me!)**


	12. When Plans Back Fire

The Shade Law

Chapter 12: When Plans Back-Fire

"The fireworks show will start in a few minutes!"

I look at the firecrackers skeptically. "Are you sure it's safe to set these off when war is pretty much on our doorstep?"

"Hell, it's probably not safe, but it sure is fun!" Kasey says, laughing at his own joke. Or is that Patrick? Either way, soon enough, the other is joining in on the guffaws.

I smile awkwardly, then edge away, towards Muffy and Celia. But they're with Marlin and Griffin, respectively. Celia and Marlin decided to make it official, and Muffy and Griffin went out a few days back.

It's July 24th, the Fireworks Festival, and I haven't seen or talked to Skye since I turned him down. I've been avoiding going to the Goddess Pond, as well.

Just until I think about the pros and cons of a friendship with him, I mean. So far, the chances are not looking too good. But why does that bother me so much? I only want to set things straight, right?

But why does that feel like the wrong answer?

"I feel like a," I think for a beat, "Fifth wheel? Is there such a thing? 'Cause if there is, I'm one."

"Jill, don't worry! Don't be such a party-pooper." Muffy admonishes.

"Well, what if I want to?" She opens her mouth, but I cut her off. "Don't say you'll leave me here, because I don't want to have to watch the show with Kasey and Patrick." I shudder. "Remember that one girl?"

Celia laughs. "We wouldn't do that! We're not _that _horrible. And, yes, I do remember her. Poor thing."

Muffy joins in, nudging me in the ribs. "Did you see her face? Oh, my Goddess, she looked like she could just die then and there." After reining in her laughter, she adds, "So let's hope you don't have to go through that."

A familiar chuckle from the left makes me turn my head. A splinter of guilt buries itself into my gut. A lead ball sits in my chest, restraining my breathing. Skye.

He stands with his friends, but much like me, it doesn't look like he has anyone to watch the show with. You see, the Fireworks Festival is a romantic one, of sorts. Most watch it with it their significant other. Or potential one.

But unlike me, he doesn't have to search for a date. Girls are practically just standing there, hoping he might be interested. I squint. I think that's Madelaine over there.

Couples dot the shoreline of the beach.

"I didn't know Nami and Gustafa were together." I comment, spotting the two. Nami seems annoyed, as always, with the musician.

"Oh, they're not. Well, Gustafa likes her, but you know Nami." Muffy says, following my gaze.

I nod. A loud _crack_ makes me jump. I half-expect the noise to have come from a gun, but it's just the brothers giving their work a test. Muffled cheers reach me when people see the light fizzle out of existence. Five minutes to go.

When I turn around, Muffy and Celia are looking from between me and their dates.

"Uh, Jill, we're going to sit over there." Celia says, nodding towards the front of the beach. They look as if they want me to leave, but don't want to hurt my feelings in the process. Well, Marlin doesn't spare the energy to look concerned. His neutral glare says all I need to know: _Leave, please and thank you._

"Oh, no," I start, already trying to edge away, "I'll be fine. Go. The good seats will disappear if you don't go now."

Muffy grabs onto the bait I set. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay..."

I smile encouragingly. "Don't worry; I'll be fine."

And they leave, glancing over their shoulders at me, concern written on their faces. I continue with the fake smile until I can't see them in crowd. So much for a smaller show. Seems like Blackthorn's plan to cut-back pretty much back-fired.

I look around, only to see that most have already paired off. Except a certain you-know-who. Well, almost. A few straggler girls are bugging him, but give up quickly when he doesn't respond to their advances. I store the info away; so ignoring the brats actually does work—when you're Skye.

He looks around, sighs, and heads to a spot harder to see from here, but I know from experience that it has a great view. I follow.

A small grove of short trees borders the area. A cliff—not one too high, I note—drops down to a tiny sliver of beach below, which keeps disappearing under the waves as it pushes up against the small broken boat tethered to a beached log.

Skye sits close to the edge, but not close enough to worry about falling off, nor far back enough to have to watch out for the low branches that prick into your back if you settle down.

"You know, it's not polite to ignore the conversation." I say, echoing the last conversation we had on the beach. I smile vaguely when he starts at the sound of my voice.

Skye glances at me, smiles a little melancholy and fiddles with the ring. Correction: just a normal ring.

"Good evening, Maiden."

My stomach twists a bit; so we're back to his little nicknames, I guess. I realize for the first time that in our last conversation, he didn't call me 'maiden' or 'beautiful' once. Or maybe it's just he didn't get the chance to. Yeah, maybe I'm just reading too much into it.

But I'll apologise if it's that the last thing that I do. I can't deal with this guilt, compressed like a spring ready to release its energy to pop me open like a jack-in-the-box.

I dive right into what I came here to do. "I'm sorry about last time. I didn't mean to sound...well, mean." I almost face-palm at my little apology. How stupid am I?

"It's fine."

I sigh angrily. I plunk down next to him and bury my head in my hands. "No, it's not fine. I'm always hurting you—one way or another—then I'll come back and give you some messed up apology and expect you to say 'it's fine' when I know it's not."

"No, really, it's fi—" He starts.

I rake back my hair. "Argh, you just don't get it! Do you know how horrible I've felt over the past week? You and your stupid guilt trips! I mean, really—"

The sky fills with a bright red, flashing and exploding with a large _boom_. My heart seems to stop for a second, and I nearly fall over from the shock. Goddess, I forgot the show was supposed to start soon! A quick flash of green soon follows the crimson blaze.

I take a few seconds to admire the bursts of color on the navy-blue sky. For once, we can see the distant points of light on the nearly obsidian-black canvas, lending their magic to the fairy-dusted scenery.

"You felt guilty?" Skye asks, looking at me curiously.

"Oh, like you don't know. I mean, the note? Was that really necessary, to make me even more ashamed of myself that I made you all sad? And why am I the one getting angry? _You_ should be the one who's getting angry at _me!_"I growl, throwing my hands in the air. "This is so backwards!"

"Well, Jill, I'm not one to lose my temper." A snake of annoyance curls itself around my throat. He doesn't think I saw him fighting with his dad, does he?

"Well, can't you get angry for once? It's not like you can't."

Skye smiles, looking back at the star-flecked sky. A new explosion of gold brightens the beach for a few seconds, and I can barely hear the distant cheers. "I just don't."

I sigh, tension draining from my shoulders. "Okay. Fine. Be Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected, why don't you." This whole apology thing's going down the drain. At this rate, I'll be repeating this situation by tomorrow.

He chuckles, and the night lights up with another burst of color. "Jill, thank you."

I look at him, surprised. "Thank you how?"

Skye turns his head to glance at me. He smiles. "For caring. You wouldn't feel guilty if you didn't' care, would you?"

I shake my head. "No, I guess not. I would feel guilty if I said something mean to Muffy or Celia." Of course I would; they're my friends. But him? I'm not so sure. "We're still friends, right?" Wait, why would I ask that?

"Of course. Why wouldn't we?"

I smirk. "Because, oh, I don't know, I _hurt _you?" A flicker of a dying firecracker glints in Skye's eyes, turning their normal turquoise color to a sapphire blue. I finally seem to notice the small nick on his cheek, like a shallow scratch. Something else must have hurt him.

Suddenly, it seems like the world has shrunk. My face starts to feel hot, and I realize I must have been staring, because Skye's giving me a weird look. Not _weird, _weird, but...I don't know.

Another burst of light reflects in Skye's eyes, and I can't help but wonder at their unusual color. I mean, we're under the Shade Law and everything, but even then, his colorings are not exactly _normal._

My breath hitches. Why does it suddenly seem like his eyes are getting closer? No, not his eyes. His face.

A breeze passes through the trees, sending my hair flying, coming loose of the ribbon and blocking my line of sight. When I finally am able to see again, Skye's face has acquired a redder color than usual. Is he...embarrassed? Why would he be embarrassed?

I try fixing my hair, but it keeps coming tumbling down in tangles. I growl. This is getting annoying. When I actually do get it to stay the way I want it to, Skye seeming unusually interested in the fireworks, I think about that weird moment a few seconds ago.

Another flash of light illuminates the beach, followed by the cheers of the crowd. Not as many seem to be interested in the show, some even falling asleep. I notice Rock is one of them. He's always been a lazy person, sponging off of his parents. He doesn't even try looking for a job.

Okay, why would Skye be embarrassed? He doesn't look like the type to get easily flustered. He takes everything head-on, not shyly, so it wouldn't seem normal for him to go red in the face at the slightest prompt. I rake my brain for the faintest clue.

When was the last time he even blushed? _When I said that I was glad to see him, that it might be fate that drew us together._ The thought makes me stop. _When I was sort-of flirting with him._

So, it seems, the most sought after guy in school isn't that comfortable in the affairs of love. Why else would he blush? Another thought makes me freeze.

Wait.

Oh, Goddess. Oh, Goddess. Oh, Goddess. Oh, Goddess. Holy—no cussing, Jill.

I restrain the urge to gape at him, because that might give away my thoughts. Why, oh why, would this be happening to me? Why, why, why? I know this is going to sound crazy, illogical, stupid, foolish, way-off, stupid, outrageous, idiotic, ridiculous, stupid—did I mention stupid?—but did he..did he...

Did Skye just try to _kiss_ me?


	13. Second Thoughts

The Shade Law

Chapter 13: Second Thoughts

Oh, my Goddess.

This is _way_ more than I bargained for when I decided to apologise. Now I won't ever be able to say 'sorry' again. I'll be too scared of what might happen afterwards.

The thought that Skye, of all people, would want to kiss me, makes this festival a thousand times more awkward. I don't even want to look at him; it feels like with the slightest movement, the air will shatter like glass and cut me open on their sharp edges. Like the wrong move could leave us both with a million scars. Like a poorly-chosen word will tear us to bits.

_Tread carefully now, Jill. _

An especially large explosion makes me look up, and I curse silently, barely catching a glimpse of the firecracker fizzling out into a shower of sparks. I missed the finale!

I shake my head, unfortunately catching Skye's attention, trying to get my brain back on track. _Why would he want to kiss me? _I'm not anything special. What's the appeal?

Well, at least I don't have a crush on him. The last time I had one was when I was nine, on Gray Smith. He was a quiet boy, but he was never left out of anything. He spoke his mind, too, and was one of the few boys who enjoyed reading.

And then he left for Mineral Town to work at his grandfather's forge after his dad died. That's the last I've heard of him.

Boy, what a change. A quiet boy to a popular flirt. Wait, what? Who said I like him? 'Cause I don't. Not one bit.

Why would I, anyways? I just have to remind myself that he's a thief, and my stomach starts turning. Not the best choice for a—

Just stop. Best to keep that thought unfinished. Yeah, it's better that way.

And I don't mean just the thought.

* * *

><p>On the way to school the next day, the streets are not looking too great. The ones winding their ways to Outer City are indented with holes, charred edges blending into blown-back grass. I'm seriously thinking that war is pretty close. Just a guess.<p>

There are other signs that the rebellion is in full swing. People are turning each other in like each and every one of us is a fugitive. Well, that's what the better-off are saying about us, anyways.

Distant gunshots have become more common, everyday less and less distant, and the babies in the ward are always restless, thanks to the noise. A lot wake up in the middle of a much needed nap, crying and wailing.

But not Leith. He sleeps like a log.

Celia seems a little out of it, and not in the happy sense, but more like something's bothering her. I make a mental note to ask her about it at lunch.

When lunch does roll around, I ask her, but she just says it's nothing, that's it's nothing to worry about. And yet she plays with her hair nervously, eyes darting around like she's trapped up against a wall.

Which is weird, if you've known Celia for as long as I have. I don't mean this to sound like a bad thing, but she's always been a...goody two-shoes. She does what she thinks is right, including always telling the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

But, obviously, that way of thinking has been revoked. Well, at least for this, it has.

As if to change the subject, she then asks who I watched the fireworks show with, sending my cool demeanor up in flames. She must have not expecting any real reaction, because she just stares for a few minutes before getting Muffy to help her interrogate me.

They don't win, though. See, it's good to be stubborn! Well, I guess it's also good to be friends with two people who have no hope in the Law Keeper profession.

But, moving on to more_...pleasant_ issues, Rock and Lumina really aren't getting along too well.

"Lumina, there's something I want to ask you."

She turns to him, probably thinking he would confess his love or something. But you shouldn't expect much from Rock. "What is it?"

"Lumina, you used to like, didn't you? When we were younger?"

Going red in the face, Lumina tries to deny it by saying a very shaky 'What? That's not true!'

But all Rock does is smile. "Don't worry. I realised it a long time ago." Which makes her go even redder, right there in the middle of the hallway. Lumina begs him not to tell anyone, and he says that this would be a secret between just the two of them. That is, until tomorrow, when he'll start bragging.

But he seems surprised that she would try to deny it. What did he expect? A kiss?

Actually, he's the type to expect that. He even played a trick on her, making her think that he actually _was _going to kiss her, but then never did.

_But it was just a joke!_ He said. _Live a little._

And what else did he think he was going to get but a slap in the face after that comment? I certainly would have done the same. When you're as love-struck as Lumina and are told you were to get a kiss from your crush, wouldn't you get angry if he suddenly laughed in your face about your acceptance?

I spot Skye several times during the school day, and every time, my face turns an uncomfortable red. When I work at the Hospital, I catch sight of Alex, still here due to complications, and my stomach does a weird, messed up flip.

_What the hell's happening? Am I going crazy?_

I walk home, like usual, and I pass by Celia's house. I pause at the door of the farmhouse, thinking, before knocking. No answer. Again, I knock, but again no answer. Just as I'm leaving, Celia comes to the door, face flushed. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry. Things are pretty hectic around here right now." She glances back into the house, and I hear a kettle whistle. "I ran back in to get some leftover seeds from last season. Can you believe we went through that many of them? The veggies love this weather!"

I nod. "Where's Vesta—?"

A shout cuts me short. "What in the world is this?" Well, that answered my question. Vesta sounds pretty angry.

"What's wrong, Auntie?"

Vesta flutters a piece of paper in front of our faces. A curve of a familiar hand catches my eye. "A note from the Phantom Thief, that's what!" Her face goes red with rage. "He wants to ravage our crops. This is unbelievable! Give me a break!"

While I think in my head that Skye wouldn't really 'ravage' her crops, I don't doubt for a second that he would try stealing them.

Celia seems uncomfortable. Well, I would be, too, if I were told an infamous thief was to come to my home to try to steal something I worked hard for. "Well, counting Marlin, we're just three. With just us, we can't do much." She pauses, and slowly, she asks, "You wouldn't mind helping us, would you, Jill?"

Oh, sh—

"No, no, no, no." I say, shaking my head furiously. No way in _hell_ would I do that to myself.

Celia looks disappointed. "Oh, okay. I know you have a lot to do."

Marlin must have joined our group, because he shakes his head. "Sorry to ask too much of you."

Even Vesta looks let down, "I suppose the three of us can handle it somehow. But if you change your mind, come back between ten and twelve tonight. Oh, and we'll be waitin' in the house."

I nod, even though I know I won't be coming tonight. They'll just have to deal with him on their own. It's not like I want to get involved with Skye again.

* * *

><p>I decide to have one more side-trip before going home: Muffy's new house, the spacey attic above Griffin's home. When I get there, Muffy is muttering to herself. I step in the room, but Muffy and Griffin don't seem to notice. Looking up from her hands, Muffy asks Griffin, "Don't you think I have no luck with men?"<p>

Griffin, always patient and never taking offence, says, "Hmmm. I don't know."

"After all, I've never dated a decent man before."

Oh, she's talking about her past relationships. Griffin thinks for a few seconds. "Do you think that may be because you're a poor judge of men?"

Muffy seems a bit surprised by this answer. "Maybe...I can't deny that I've had no luck so far..."

"Well, the men in Forget-Me-Not are all nice; why don't you look here?"

Smiling with a new found hope, Muffy says, "Yeah, you're right." She beams at Griffin, and I can see him blush. "I don't why I didn't realize it. Thank you, Griffin." And I know she's thinking about him being the man she might continue seeing.

I leave, seeing as they probably want some privacy, completely confused. Why would she be talking about other men when she and Griffin went out? Was she having second thoughts? Or is it just her being a bit cautious, trying to gauge his reaction? Either way, I'm not going to just _ask_ her.

Hmmm. Second thoughts. Something I'm having about refusing to help Celia to catch Skye. I'm starting to think that they might need more help to protect the farm.

But I don't want to go there right now. Which is more important? My sanity, or a few vegetables? A few vegetables. That's what I would choose, anyways. Sighing, I start to make the trek back to the farm.

_I wonder what Celia's reaction will be when she sees who the Phantom Thief is, _I think, because I don't think even Skye's good enough to hide his eye and hair color completely. A fuzzy picture of an angry Blackthorn comes into my mind.

Wait. If he has a fit over a simple gift of cookies and beats Skye, what would he do if he finds out that Skye's been stealing from under his nose? Something worse that hitting him, that's for sure. The picture of Skye's bruised face comes to me, vivid and reality-shocking. What happened to being good to your kids?

And what if Skye has to use the ring on Celia?

She wouldn't take it as well as I did, and I all but socked him the jaw. She would probably try to do the same. My pace quickens. Oh, Goddess. Life would be so much easier without a conscious, wouldn't it?

So why do I smile when I walk into the farmhouse a few minutes later?

"We'll get that lily-livered thief tonight!" Vesta crows, slamming her palm onto the wooden table.

And why does my head start to pound in rhythm with my heart and my breath becomes shaky?

_Why do I care that this might be the last time I might see a certain pain-in-the-neck, free from iron bars? _

_Why do I care at all?_

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! This is more of a filler than usual, but I still hope you like it! The next chapter's going to be fun to write...<strong>


	14. Out of Character

The Shade Law

Chapter 14: Out of Character

"You're awfully angry," notes Marlin, staring at Vesta's hand, which she just slammed onto the table.

"You better believe I am!" Vesta says, huffing angrily. "That crook's after my precious vegetables!"

We all nod and head out the door. Celia seems a bit off-put by the whole situation. Biting her lip, she looks around and suggests, "Maybe we need a strategy, since this farm's so huge."

I glance around. She's kinda right. When did the farm get so big? Guess I never really noticed, since I come around so often. Never really thought it'd matter, anyways.

Marlin nods, all business. "Yeah, you're right." He thinks for a moment, and then says, "Why don't we split up in pairs, hide in different areas and ambush him?"

"That makes sense," Vesta says, looking around the large farm. "So, Celia and Marlin, I want you two to take that field." She points towards the back field next to the two greenhouses.

"What about me?" I ask, watching the two making their way over to the field.

"You and I'll take the opposite one, Jill."

* * *

><p>It takes only a few minutes for Skye to show up. At first glance, I can't even tell it's him. The black and hoodie and shadows hide the easily recognizable colors. But I don't think it can be anyone besides him when Vesta shouts, "Stop, thief! You ain't gettin' your grimy paws on my veggies!" I watch the shadows where Skye's face would be, if I could just see it!<p>

Skye opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to say something that would make Vesta even angrier. A flood of some odd feeling makes me say, "Please, stop stealing!" My voice comes out strained and, as much as I hate to admit it, shaky.

Skye stops short, visibly taken aback and I can practically feel the waves of rage coming off of Vesta. She doesn't even question my outburst. There's a red glimmer as the ring catches the faint light as Skye tightens his fist.

A tremor shakes his voice. "Are you worried about me?" A weary sigh, but I can hear a tiny hint of a smile. A very tiny one. "Well, don't be. It's not my time to be caught." Skye brandishes the ring, a larger than normal glint cutting through the dark like a lighthouse's beam, and he practically sways on his feet, as if he doesn't have the energy to keep himself upright.

The odd feeling of being frozen seems like something I'll never get used to. Vesta's obviously agreeing when she says, "What's happening? I can't move!" I'm not facing her, but I can almost feel the steam coming out of her ears. Ooh, boy.

"My work here's done," Skye says, and I hear the tiredness in his voice. He turns around. "Time to jet."

I follow his path with my eyes as far as I can. But that's only so far. I take in the exhausted way he trudges up the path. The irritation of being frozen comes back. I grit my teeth. Damn it, Skye! Is it really necessary to freeze me? The crunching of gravel stops just out of my peripheral vision. So close.

"H-Hey! Hold it, you thief!" Celia stutters, and I can imagine her face. She must be scared out of her wits.

A fake laugh. At least, I think it's fake, because it doesn't sound too happy. More ironic. "Being cornered by pretty ladies seems to be a curse of mine."

Why is Skye so tired all of a sudden? He sounds almost annoyed.

Marlin takes the chance to put in his two cent's worth. "Hey, back off, Pretty Boy!" He must be shooting in the dark with the insults, then, because I doubt Marlin can see Skye's face without recognizing it. But by the way that Skye talks, you could sort of guess what type of person he is. Probably. Hopefully, anyways. It's better than him actually seeing what Skye's looks are like. Wait, what?

I hear an almost inaudible groan of annoyance. "I don't want to be caught by a man! Where's the mystique in that?"

My eyes widen slightly at his tone. Skye must be acting, because he's not really himself right now, sounding pretty fed up with the whole situation. He's saying what he would usually say, but it's almost like he's only doing it to 'stay in character', as it were. What the hell? It only started after he used the ring, too...

The next thing someone says belongs to Marlin. "Uh, Celia...?"

"I can't," Celia wails, "I can't move!"

So he used the ring on her, then? Oh, Goddess...

"What?"

Echoing the lines he fed me the first time he froze me, Skye assures, "You'll be able to move soon." Footsteps on the gravel road, sluggish but soft, signal his departure. Just as quickly, feeling starts to seep back into my body.

Once I have complete control over myself again, I rush to Celia, jumping over the fence in my hurry. She's staring off down the path leading to the bridge, probably the way Skye left. Forget my concern. I feel like throttling him!

Marlin is looking from between Celia and the path, as if he's unsure whether to help Celia or run after the criminal. If he chooses the latter, I'll gladly join him! It's be fun to finally get back at him—but then again, my conscious will probably make me apologize, however bad I am at doing that.

"Celia? You okay?"

At my question, Celia seems to come back to reality. She looks like she's about to ask me something, but thinks better of it. "Yeah, I'm fine. Did you see what he looked like? Not even his colors?"

I hesitate. Everyone holds their breath, probably eager to get info that'll help them catch Skye. For some reason, I only give them half the truth: "No, I couldn't see his face. His hood blocked my view." It's the truth, if not in its entirety; I couldn't see his colors _tonight, _but I know what they are.

Their faces fall, Marlin's more noticeably. He probably wanted to hunt him down. Celia, on the other hand, seems less violent.

Her eyebrows knit together. "You're sure," she says, and I nod, but it turns out she's not finished, because she continues, "That his hair's not an...unusual color?" She avoids my gaze, instead vying to suddenly get an interest in the ground.

I narrow my eyes. Why's Celia so suspicious all of a sudden? It's almost like she's trying to prove something, and not just to other people, but to herself. Almost to reassure herself. "Define 'unusual'."

She shakes her head, looks away. "Just pretend I never said anything."

Uh, okay. "Whatever you say, Celia. I guess."

Celia sighs, playing with the hem of her shirt. She looks up at Vesta. "We still didn't get the Phantom Thief, though..."

Marlin groans. "And it's all my fault." He puts his hands in his pockets, looking like he's kicking himself over the fact that he'd rather help his girlfriend than go after a crook. But who am I to blame him? I wasn't much help.

After a pregnant pause, Vesta says, "What's with the long faces?"

Everyone reluctantly gives an answer, ranging from 'that Thief', to something, courtesy of Marlin, I rather would not repeat.

"Nobody got hurt, so there's nothing to be so sad about. He didn't foul up our crops too badly, anyways."

I look up in surprise. "He got something?"

Vesta sighs. "Unfortunately, yes. Must've swiped it when we weren't lookin'." She claps her hands together, and says, "But tomorrow's another day. Just gotta keep workin'!"

Both Marlin and Celia smile.

"That's right," Celia says, laughing a bit, "Let's do our best!" As if on a last minute thought, she adds, "Thanks so much for the help, Jill!" she sends a semi-forced smile in my direction before her eyes drop back to the ground.

Vesta chuckles. "Come back to the farm anytime!"

I smile back. "I'll just have to take you up on that offer." As I'm leaving, I wave to them and call, "See you tomorrow!" And I start down the path.

The path to the bridge is short, but within the span of a few meters, I hear a door slam, a strong night wind sends leaves into my hair, my thoughts threaten to eat me alive, and a sense of confusion makes the route seems a thousand times longer.

While I struggle to get the leaves out of my hair, I think. And think. And think some more.

I can worry about things after what I just went through, okay? Besides, I'll more than likely waste my time by trying to make sense of what's happening without trying to do the same to myself.

Why in the world would I care whether Skye continues stealing? It's not my life he's wasting.

_But I don't want him to get caught._

Holy—

Did I just think that?

_Denial's not good for you, _Mom would say. Guess it's finally time to take her advice. Even if I'm _very _annoyed with him. Very.

I guess I care that he might get caught. But that doesn't mean that I like him or anything. Not in the slightest.

So that settles that. What about Celia? Why is she suddenly so different?

She's not usually this suspicious. _I want to be someone who can hope for the best in others, _as she put it. And I _did _tell her the truth, which means I avoided the annoying nervous tick. So she can have possibly guessed that didn't tell her the _whole _truth. Whatever.

Another sun-dried leaf breaks in my hands as I try to extract it from my hair, leaving bits and pieces in its wake. It's like the world doesn't hate me enough.

It's like 'hey, you don't have enough on your plate with an aggravating thief/friend that can't choose whether to be actually bearable or obnoxious, a long-time friend who's acting weird, or parents who are never home, so why don't I just throw some ridiculously hard to get rid of leaves in your hair, and why don't you have fun with that, instead of focusing on the festival tomorrow?'

Wait. Festival. Tomorrow. Moon Viewing Festival.

I stop in the middle of the path, uncurl my fingers, and watch as a passing breeze lifts the messed-up leaf and drifts it away. I sigh in defeat, staring decidedly at my shoes.

_Damn it._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hey, guys! Sorry it took so long; I was having trouble 'connecting' with my beta-reader, but now it's all fixed! Again, HersheyChocolate101, thank you so much for beta-reading! I can't tell you how thankful I am! <strong>

**And how can I forget my lovely reviewers? You guys are great; I mean, 43 reviews? Oh, my God, thank you!  
><strong>


	15. Broken Promises

The Shade Law

Chapter 15: Broken Promises

The Moon Viewing Festival has always been a part of the City's festivals, though it wasn't celebrated a short while back.

You would sit on top of Mother Hill, near Mineral Town, and watch the moon rise with the first person you spoke to. It didn't matter if all you said was a 'hi' or you had an entire conversation with the person, you would sit and enjoy the festival with them, whether you liked it or not.

It was supposed to fortify townspeople relations. All it really did was make people scared of talking to the 'wrong' person, making it a whole ton of awkward silence. Can you say 'back-fire'?

Now, you actually get to choose who you want to sit with. Most sit with their families, but there's always the odd number of couples. Most leave around twelve, but there are a few crazies who stay until the sun rises, which is the official end of the festival.

So why am I surprised when Mom tells me that she, Dad and I are going to celebrate together, and we're staying all night? The fact that they're not working tonight might have something to do with it, though...

"You're sure that you don't have work today?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at the snacks laid out on the table. "You don't have an emergency meeting that you just _might _have to go to?"

Mom sighs. "Don't be snippy with me." She looks up. "And, yes, I'm sure. Now go help your father find the blanket; I swear that man couldn't find his shoes if they weren't on his feet already."

So after I find the blanket, we wrestle it out of the basement, and go upstairs to help Mom with the food. Dad swipes a homemade cookie, and Mom swats at his hand, but misses by a few millimeters.

"That," Mom says, glaring at the cookie, "Is for later. If I were to leave you in charge of the snacks, they'd be gone by the time I went out the door."

Dad smiles. "That they would." He takes a bite of the cookie, nodding. "That they would."

* * *

><p>By the time we get to Mother Hill, it's already dark, though we left early to avoid just that. Either way, it's always the same: Mom goes off to talk with her nurse coworkers, Dad to his work buddies, and me off to find Muffy and Celia, which, surprisingly, is not that hard.<p>

They come up to hug me when they see me. Well, Muffy does. Celia's closer to the tree line, staring at something like it might jump out and eat her face off. Muffy notices as well.

"Hey, Celia?" She calls, catching Celia's attention. "What're you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought I just saw an animal or something."

We nod, and when Celia gets over to us, I ask, "Are you celebrating with Vesta and Marlin?" Muffy, obviously, will either watch with me or with Griffin.

Celia smiles. "Yep. Auntie even made some stew." I smirk, knowing that Celia absolutely adores her aunt's stew. But with the vegetables they grow, who's surprised?

Celia and Muffy start talking about who knows what, but within seconds, Celia's called over by her 'family' and Muffy says she should be trying to find Griffin by now, because the festival's about to start. Right as I'm about to go find my parents, curiosity makes me head over to the spot Celia was at.

I peer through the brush, trees and bushes easily taller than me, and immediately recognize it's the other half of Mother's Hill, the part that's connected by a rickety bridge. Most don't watch from there because the view's horrible; trees block out most of the sky. Oh, and the mountain kind of contributes to obstructing the view, too.

So that's why I'm so shocked to see a familiar flash of silver. _What the hell is Skye doing there? _Okay, I can tell his family's not the best in the world—they certainly won't be winning any awards—but shouldn't Skye still be watching with them?

A call makes me turn around. Mom's waving me over, so when I do go, she makes me sit down and hands me a cookie, saying that the festival's about to start. I nod, resisting the urge to say 'yeah, I know' and take a look at the sky. What really starts off the festival? Well, a firecracker's enough, isn't it?

The crowd watches the crackling streak of light explode and split off into a shower of sparks. As it detonates the night lights up with a burst of gold.

A dull ringing piques my interest, but I shake off the distraction. It's only after a few rings that my mother finally picks. Her whispering starts to annoy me, but I don't say anything, keep watching the tiny sliver of moon that appears over the ridge of the mountain.

But after a few minutes of teeth-jarring whispers, Mom snaps the phone closed with a sigh, stuffs it back into the bag, and taps me on the shoulder.

"We have to go, honey."

I blink, my eyebrows pulling together. "What? You said you wouldn't have any work today!"

Another sigh. "Yes, I know." She rubs her forehead and adds, as if it were to make it better, "it's at the last minute, and an emergency. I wouldn't have accepted if it wasn't." Mom looks around. "You can stay here, if you want."

"Sure," I say, only because I don't want to go with her and Dad—not now.

As she's packing up her stuff—which surprise, surprise, is work—Mom asks, "Do you have anyone to sit with? It's a social event, after all."

Thank you, Captain Obvious. You know that feeling when you just want someone to leave, because you're so mad at them? When you would say anything to get rid of them? "Yeah, Mom. Sure."

"Okay, Honey," Mom says, quickly, kissing me on the head. "We have to go now. You're not angry with us, I hope?"

I seethe quietly, hoping she can't hear the bite in my tone. "No, of course not," I say icily, "Why would I?"

"Good. See you later, sweetie." She's obviously trying to be nicer; I haven't been called 'sweetie' since I was six. And they leave. Leave me sitting there in the cold, fuming and hurt.

I close my eyes. _Come on, Mom. Why did you have to do that? Am I not nearly important as your job, or am I just a nuisance?_

I snort. Why can't I be the perfect government daughter? The one who would love to become a nurse, the one who would accept the hand she's dealt without question? Because she doesn't think that there must be something better than her current life? Because she doesn't expect anything different, so she's not let down nearly as far as I am right now in her entire life?

One who's not me?

So I sit there, by myself, weighing my options, lost in my own misery. Well, I certainly can't go sitting with either Muffy or Celia; they wouldn't object to my presence, though they would resent me inside, I'm sure.

Time to go solo, I guess. I look up at the moon and smile ironically, but it seems like the smile really shouldn't be there. _Well, I can't say that I don't enjoy the quiet for once. _But when you're all alone, it seems that the world is slightly louder than if you were with _someone. _

Who would've thought that my favorite festival could be the worst I've had so far?

* * *

><p>The next day, I tip-toe past my parents door, though I know they are usually up by now. When I peer inside, they're gone, like I guessed, the bed made neatly. A memory of the two of them making the bed together, laughing and smiling, passes in front of my eyes like a hologram, but I know it's just my imagination.<p>

I'm never awake early enough to see that now.

So, instead, I make my through my morning routine, pausing at the mirror in the bathroom, tilting my face this way and that, trying to get a good angle where I don't look like someone who's lost sleep over too many issues. I give up with a sigh after a few minutes of searching my reflection's tired eyes.

On the way out, I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. I shake my head. _I look just like my mother._

School's normal. Nothing worth noting. Nothing really, besides the vacant look of deep thought I pass out to my friends, Muffy is too happy to finally have a boyfriend to notice. Celia squints at me, face slightly pale, but saying nothing if her brain registered my empty expression.

The only time things start to happen at all is when I go visit Leith. He's taller now, hair shorter to fit his thirteen year-old looks. He stares at my face, as if trying to reconcile my demeanor with the person that tickled him when he was sad. I turn my face away.

He talks to me, or the side of my face, about school life, how 'no one wants to hang out with him, but no one's bothering him, either, so he shouldn't be complaining', filling all the empty spaces he can reach in our conversations. But when you're almost a foot shorter than most adults, you can only reach so far.

After almost an hour of worthless, one-sided conversation, I can't take it any longer. Maybe it's the stress, maybe it's me being spread too thin over the course of the past months, but you know that something's not right when you completely shut out the world, especially when that world is a young boy you vowed to help.

But that doesn't stop me from quickly excusing myself from his company, picking up my belongings, and leaving the hospital before even realizing I left without waiting for Nurse Elli to come back, so Leith's by himself. I convince myself that Elli's probably there already, so it would be pointless if I went back now, and I go home.

It's only when I try to fall asleep in an empty house—parents gone to work, by the looks of the note taped to the chilled table—that I think about what happened. I force back tears that threaten to prick my eyes, angry at myself that I would be so weak. _What happened to the girl who wouldn't cry when the boys picked on her? Because I certainly need her back now._

Mom used to tell me that I could be too strong—stubborn, she corrected herself, chuckling her chiming laugh—for my own good. You have to let yourself cry sometimes, she used to say, because it's our way to convince ourselves we really care. If you don't cry sometimes, you'll never understand why it hurts so much.

If I made a list of all the things I've done wrong in my life until now, the list wouldn't be finished by the time I died. But I know that among the first ones written would be the promises I broke.

_I assure you, Gemima, I'll take care of your kid. Don't worry._

_I vow to try to see every perceived wrong, on the part of my parents, though their eyes. Maybe they have a reason. Maybe they don't, but it's worth trying._

_I give my word not to lean on others. You have to do things by yourself when you're older, anyways, so why not start early?_

_I pledge that I'll try my best to be the person you can rely on, even if I wouldn't trust myself if I had to._

_I swear I won't fall._

_I promise._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hello, guys! Sorry for the wait! Writer's block. Again. Yay...<strong>_  
><em>

_**Anyways, the next chapter's already half done, so that shouldn't take _too _long, but then again, I might have just jinxed it. We'll see. Hope you enjoyed!**  
><em>


	16. Apathy

The Shade Law

Chapter 16: Apathy

Maybe it's thunder. Or maybe it's just my wacky hearing. I _did _hear a voice in the wind, like a little boy crying when I was younger, but there wasn't anyone around for blocks. So it must have been my imagination.

But I'm positive this time that it's not my overactive brain that makes me think that I hear a fresh round of bombings, closer than ever. Why does it sound like that they're only a short walk away?

Dad's sipping his morning coffee, a rare sight, when we first hear it. A few distinct, hollow booms resonate in the air, shaking the glass slightly, hanging over our heads, as if threatening to ruin our day.

I push my plate away in disgust, imagining the twisted bodies left by the raids. Guess they already ruined it, though it doesn't take much to do that these days, it seems.

Dad whistles, looking out the window, towards Outer City. "Well, _that _certainly isn't good. And with the draft..."

"What draft?"

Dad places his newspaper on the table, turning it around so I can read the headline.

_Calling All Able-Bodied Men!_

Dad nods at my wide-eyed stare. "That draft."

I continue to stare at the paper, eyes skimming the article. "Seventeen and older?" I allow a few brief seconds to look up at him. "Don't you think the minimum's too young?"

Dad doesn't say anything, just picks up the paper, his mouth setting into a grim line. He snaps the paper so it stands upright, and goes back to reading.

I sit back in my seat, my brain mulling and gears turning slowly, as if they're rusted. A draft? Do they really need so many men that they resort to forcing boys who are barely out of school into the army?

A thought stops my breath. _Skye, Dad, and Leith, at the rate he's aging, could be recruited! _Well, maybe not Skye, since his dad's the President, but you never know.

But Dad and Leith are certainly going to be drafted, even if Leith's only really a year old. Oh, goddess. Imagine dying after a year's worth of time alive.

So you can't blame me as I pass a worried glance to Dad as he continues reading.

I gather my courage. "Why're they doing a draft? Are their troops really that depleted?"

Dad barely glances up from a sentence. He continues reading as he says, "Rebels are apparently getting more support. Or there are a lot of spies. Either way, it's not looking too good for the government."

I pause, tilting my head. Did Dad really say that? Because usually, if you said that, and were caught, you'd be tried for blasphemy. And you _usually _don't win that battle.

"So how are the front lines? You should know, I guess, if you're in charge of the newspaper," someone says behind me as I scribble the answer to some forgotten homework. When I look over my shoulder, thinking the person might've been talking to me, I spot a younger kid, probably fourteen, looking up at a man that I guess is his father.

The man shrugs and says, "Not too bad. But they need more men." Sighing, he rubs his neck. "There's going to be a draft."

The boy tilts his head. "A draft? Like wind?"

"Uh…no." the man clears his throat uncomfortably, looking as if he wished he hadn't brought up the subject. "When they force people to fight."

I walk away quickly before I see the boy's face, but not before I hear his reaction.

"B-But, Dad! You can't leave! You just can't!"

I shiver at the similarities of our situations, that boy and my father that are going to be drafted, both working for the newspaper, and a kid that's less than willing to let him go.

I wonder if he won't sleep tonight.

* * *

><p>These days, I spend any extra time school and shifts at the hospital allow me in my room, thinking about everything and nothing. Who knows? Maybe I can catch a few minutes of sleep, to make up for the hours I spend lying awake in bed, staring at my blank ceiling. Haven't had much luck so far, though.<p>

Whenever I'm in a rare bout of a good mood, they don't last me too long. Mom and Dad are still working late and leaving early. But I guess you don't want to waste your time hearing about my problems, right?

Celia seems to be going back to normal, if a bit distant, and actually acts as if she's really 'in'. Not that there's much to answer to when she, Muffy, and I are hanging out together; now it seems as if none of us three has the energy to talk to each other.

Muffy is still very happy about her working relationship—or at least she's relieved that she hasn't caught him cheating or that he hasn't broken her heart into a million unfixable pieces. I'm happy for her. Well, as happy as I can be right now.

The streets are looking like they've taken a beating, pockmarked as they are. Charred vegetation has become the norm; it's almost scary to find anything that hasn't been dusted by ash. Even the people are starting to have soot smears on their faces, their skin, their clothes.

I swear sometimes that people's eyes are taking a gray cast.

Food's becoming scarcer; I'll be lucky to have extras. The Moon Viewing Festival, with its snacks, seems so distant now, almost as if it has never happened, like a dream that you wake up to find is, thankfully and unfortunately, not real.

We're better off than most. While others have to take up odd jobs around the city, Mom and Dad's extra hours seem to make everything a bit easier, though I still wish I knew what—or, rather, who—they're working for.

When I walked into the kitchen one night, their whispering drawing me to the room, they shut their mouths and notebooks quickly. They're really careful around the house, now. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this.

And don't say, 'Wow. That's kind of late', because I like to think I have faith, however thin, in my parents, thank you very much.

But there's always a breaking point to these things, right? And it seems like we've passed that threshold. Quite a while back, actually, so I don't know what I'm talking about when I say you can't make fun of me. Go ahead; do your worst.

...Actually, don't. When you're in deep like me, you want all the wiggle room you can get. Otherwise, how would you survive the fireball heading straight for your life? Sometimes I think too much, and that screws me over before the real difficulties start, so I'd rather not have someone kicking me while I'm down.

As you've probably noticed, everyone's a bit rustier in the morning, so that's why I'm not surprised by Celia's daydreaming until lunch. Though it's midday, she's still out of it, like she's thinking about something more than she should.

"Join the club," I mutter.

Celia jumps. "W-What?"

"I said, 'join the club'." I place my head on the table, cheek resting on the cool surface, and look up at her. I close my eyes and sigh. "For thinking too much."

Celia looks at me curiously. "Sorry I haven't asked sooner, but why are you so...depressed?"

I shut my eyes harder and tighten my fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms. "School. Work. Parents. People, you being one."

I feel the jolt through the table as Celia turns around quickly to look at me. "Me?"

_I don't feel like dealing with this. _"Yes, you. Ever since the robbery, you've been acting as weird as me." I open my eyes to look at her, smiling. "Even weirder. Be glad, that's not a title I give up happily." But even that tiny try at humor, if you can even call it that, drains me of emotional energy. I don't even think I would wince if a puppy got kicked right now; I'm so tired. Apathetic, I guess.

Celia laughs something forced and fake. "No, I'll leave that trophy to you. But, yes, I'm just thinking too much." I feel the vibration as she slumps in her seat. "Just like you said."

* * *

><p>Mom's great. Really, really great. I mean, is there any other kid with a mother who leaves her daughter, by herself, in a house in the middle of the damn night? No? Guess, then, my mother's one of a kind. Gee, lucky me.<p>

When she said that she didn't have any work, that we were going to spend the night in the same house, well...

You can imagine how that promise turned out. At least I didn't believe her this time.

I actually wasn't all that surprised when I heard the phone ring, or when she picked it up, going upstairs, or even when she left the house without a word, sending me a look of apology, even as she closed the door behind her.

Instead of sulking, like I usually do, I head up to my room and root through my closet until I find what I'm looking for: a box.

Specifically, what Mom called a memory box as we glued pictures onto it and got paint on each other's faces. It's just a box; nothing important or worth mentioning. But it's good place to put something if I want to keep it.

I take off the top, placing it gently on my bed, and pull out memories in form of a scrap of an old dress, a lock of hair tied with a ribbon, pressed flowers and leaves, pictures...

And a piece of cellophane, red and crinkling. It even still smells like cookies, the same treats I ate that Spring Thanksgiving, what seems like ages ago, but is barely a year back.

I drop it quickly on the pile of things I'll probably never use, but don't have the heart to throw out. I rub my hands together, suddenly cold, and pick up a small paper, the cursive hand bold against the white of the sheet.

I smile crookedly, staring at the name on the paper, shaking my head and almost laughing at myself.

_I still don't know how Skye got that note in here._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hey, guys! Yes, we might be seeing another round of that may uploads in a week after a long period of writer's block! Yes, or no? Haha, well, we'll see...<strong>

**Hope you enjoy, and thanks soooooo much for the many positive reviews!  
><strong>


	17. Deja Vu

The Shade Law

Chapter 17: Déjà Vu

The next day, as I'm blearily making my breakfast, I remember something, letting a curse slip out and dropping my food on the floor.

I bend down quickly and start to pick up the pieces of my meal off of the ground. The string of thought disappears as quickly as it came, since I'm preoccupied with the mess, so I nearly hit myself for forgetting so easily. Something has been happening way too much, for my liking.

I stare glumly at the brown dusted bagel that was my breakfast a few seconds ago, and drop it into the trash. Normally, I would make myself another, but I would be late if I did that, and I'd be wasting food.

I grimace, so, after taking care of what I need to do before going to school, I head out the door.

Well, there goes breakfast.

* * *

><p>I blame my forgetful brain for my growling stomach during my last class. I cross my arms over my mid-section, as if it were to help, my face starting to burn furiously. <em>Stupid stomach. Why can't you suffer in silence?<em>

So the second the bell rings, I pack up my things as fast as I can. As I'm stuffing sheaves of paper into my bag, my hand brushes something cold. When I pull it out, I'm surprised to see a coin. I dig out the rest of them, promising myself that I'll clean my bag but knowing that I'll never get around to it. Nearly ten G, or Gold, and a note from Mom.

_Buy yourself some supper, since I still have to go shopping at the market._

_-Love, Mom_

Even if I don't want anything she can give me, I tuck the money into my pocket, pulling on my backpack, and I exit the school.

Who doesn't want food from the Inner Inn?

* * *

><p>I regret my choice. I do. I really, really do.<p>

I walk in expecting a lukewarm welcome from Rock and Nami. Except that they're not here. It's only Ruby, Rock's mother and the person who runs the inn, thank the Goddess. But her usually happy demeanor has been replaced by a look of worry. A small paper rests in her hand.

_Oh, sh— _

"Jill!" Ruby says, looking up and smiling warmly. "You have great timing!"

But before either of us can say anything, the double doors of the inn open behind me. I wince at Rock's voice. Kill me. Kill me now.

"Mom, I heard we got a note from the Phantom Thief!" he says angrily, coming up to stand next to me at the front desk. Nami stops on the other side of me, silent as usual.

"Calm down."

Nami huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. "Ruby, you're being too casual about this." I would've agreed with her a few months ago, but I just don't know what to think these days.

I can see Rock nodding his furiously from the corner of my eye. "Yeah! I mean, this is the Thief we're dealing with!" With a flash of white teeth later, he continues, "I say it's the perfect chance to catch him and get famous!"

Wow, Nami echoes my sentiments when she says, "That's, uh, not what I meant." Would have put a little more...description in it if it was me, but hey, I can't complain.

Ruby nods and sighs. She drops the note onto the desk and says, "Maybe you're right. But how are we supposed to catch him?"

I stiffen as Rock puts an arm around my shoulders. "We'll help." He gives me a small, one-armed hug. "And Jill just came in. You'll help us, right, Jill?"

I knock his hand away. "You would assume so, wouldn't you?"

Rock smiles again. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't you?"

I sigh and look at Ruby. "I'll do it for you, not for your idiot of a son." I know Ruby will agree with me on that comment; let's just say that she's not all too proud of her son's mental capabilities and flirting habits.

Ruby smiles. "Will you, sweetie? That means a lot to us."

Rock decides it's a great time to input his special brand of stupidity. "Okay. But do you think we should ask anyone else?"

"A plan seems like it would be useful for this sort of thing, hmm, Rock? So why don't we just go running around like a chicken with our heads cut off?" Nami smiles devilishly. "Ah, remember Beach Day?"

Rock looks like he's about to reply, but Ruby cuts him off, ever being the peace-keeper. "Yeah. We've got until midnight, so let's make sure it's a good one." I nod, but I know that whatever plan they have will go down the drain when panic sets in. Who wouldn't panic when you don't know what you're facing, like a ghost in the dark?

Having the attention span of a goldfish and the IQ points that his name suggests, Rock nods and says, "Better take our time and mull this over." _Yeah, we know, Rock. No thanks for trying, though. We could've guessed that ourselves. _

Nami rolls her eyes at him pointing out the obvious. "_Yes. _Let's remember to _think, _something you no doubt will have trouble with." And she looks over at me like 'Can you believe this guy? How did he not get hit by a girl's boyfriend yet?'

They leave, Rock still trying to hit on her while Nami is successfully making him out to be the fool that he is. Ruby stares after them, sighing. "Those two fight like siblings. Oh, and Jill?" she says, making me stop at the door. "Please try to come around midnight, okay?"

* * *

><p>That night, a serious sense of déjà vu engulfing me, I walk into the Inner Inn. An empty Inner Inn. Yay. So where's Skye going to show up this time? Through the door? Or through the window?<p>

"It's him!" someone yells, from outside, but I can't tell who it is. "It's the Phantom Thief!"

And let the fun begin. So I run outside, up the path that I would usually take to go home from school, and run smack into Skye.

He smiles nervously, shifting from one foot to another. "I don't have much time tonight." He glances over his shoulder, in the direction of the shouts. "Can you sort of look the other way?"

I sigh, really not giving a damn either way. What's worse than living in an empty house? Jail? Right. I look over to the bridge. "I never saw you."

His nervous fidgeting stops. "Really?" Skye's voice makes me look back at him. His eyes are wide. "You'll cover for me? For a thief?"

I nod. "Otherwise, who would I bother?"

Skye laughs. "No one, I would assume." He bows, this time sincere, unlike the first time. "Much thanks, Jill." Another glance behind his shoulder. How is it taking them this long? He must run fast. "You're glowing with a vibrant beauty tonight."

I turn around as Skye jogs down the path. He stops and looks at me. "And I'd like your company tomorrow, at the Goddess Pond. Will you come?"

I laugh. "Not the time to arrange dates, Skye. Yes, I'll come." Funny how I feel a bit happier around him.

"Great." He winks and waves, turning. "See you then."

And with that, he disappears down the road. I blink. So he _does _run fast. Hmm. You learn something every day, right?

Rock's voice makes me turn around. "Jill!" He smiles, looking back at the small mob behind him. I spot Celia among them. "Vesta, Marlin and Celia came to help! And then..." Rock looks around, his confusion making me smirk slightly. "...The Phantom Thief slipped right by us."

All is well when I can bother Rock, I suppose.

I nod at the small crowd. Well, it's not hard to get past a group of exactly six. Even if you aren't an infamous Thief.

Nami says, "We think he went this way." She stops. "Uh...did he?"

I shake my head, because I know that this promise, at least, I can keep. "Nope." I won't be guilty of another broken promise.

Rock looks disappointed. "You didn't see him?"

Marlin growls and kicks the ground, his hands in his pockets. "That thief's awfully slick..." His eyes smolder, like he really wants to have caught Skye.

Celia pipes up. "He couldn't have gone too far!" she says, almost desperately, and I glance at her. Her eyes have a wild look to them, her movements having a frantic jerk. I tilt my head. What's wrong with her?

Vesta starts to walk down the road heading to Outer City. "Well, maybe he went over there!" She's gone even before I have a chance to say anything.

Celia is the first to follow, glancing over her shoulder at me. The others chase after them, leaving me alone on the road, adrenaline I didn't know I had draining, leaving tiredness in its wake. I go back to the inn to check the time. It's only been a few minutes, but it's still after midnight, so I go home.

Mom's gone, as usual. I head upstairs to my room.

Why would Skye ask me on a...what did I call it? A date? Right, a date.

I stop on the stairs, eyes open wide. A date. Holy Goddess. This isn't good. I called it a _date. _Oh, no. I grimace and open my bedroom door.

I walk into the room, kicking myself internally, and step on something. When I look down, it's a sheet of paper. Curious, I pick it up and turn it over. It's the picture of what the Phantom Thief is supposed to look like.

The way the drawing is incorrect and inaccurate bugs me for some reason. I pick up a colored pencil and shade in the hair until it looks silver.

I smile. There, take that, Law Keepers. A sixteen year-old knows more about the criminal that you've been hunting after than you do. Boy, were you ever wrong with this. No wonder you can't catch him—you can't even get what he looks like caught on paper.

I rip the page in half, only because the fix looks worse than the original, which is saying something. I stop, than continue ripping, over and over again, until the pieces are the size of an eraser. I smirk and watch them float down to the trash can.

While I don't hate Skye—Geez, that sounds weird, considering who he is, and all—it's fun to rip up a picture of him.

But why did I call it a date? I sigh and think, _Well, we'll find out what he wants tomorrow, won't we?_

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Ah, cliff-hangers...how I love writing thee. Not so much reading them, though. Don't worry, guys, since chapter 18's almost done.<strong>

**I hope I can update soon, but my weekend about to be _very _ hectic. I might not be able to until Monday or Tuesday. Better keep our fingers crossed.**


	18. Breaking Down

The Shade Law

Chapter 18: Breaking Down

I wake up happier than usual and chalk it up to a good night's sleep and get up.

The day seems unnaturally slow, like those lazy summer hours you waste in the sun. I blame my inattentiveness during class.

I leave my house after dropping off my school stuff with a skip in my step. I tell myself it's just sugar, even though I haven't eaten anything sweet all day.

What's wrong with me?

"Skye?" I call out when I get to the Goddess Pond. "Are you here?"

And the lights flicker out behind my eyelids.

* * *

><p>I wake up this time with a groan. <em>Guess that's what I get for being happy, huh?<em>

I look around, expecting to see the familiar greenery of the Goddess Pond, but it's pitch black. Maybe I was knocked out for such a long time that it turned dark. Weird. I never saw the pond so dark before, even on a moonless night.

I push myself up on shaky arms and fall back down, gasping with pain. It feels like a nail's being driven into my skull. And chest. And side.

I cough, reflexively covering my mouth with my hand, and something warm lands on it, a liquid that feels suspiciously like blood.

I stare at the place where my hand should be; I can't see further than a few inches. Did I just cough up blood? The thought makes me gag, which in turn causes me to cough again.

When I try to steady myself by locking my elbows, palms on the floor, I notice that that's what it is. A concrete floor.

That's why it must be so dark. Those big glowing flowers would light up the Goddess Pond, if that were where I was. But it's not.

A door opens, letting light in, as I'm trying to wipe off a trickle of blood from my chin. I look up and do a double-take. Blackthorn?

He just studies me like I'm an animal he thinks he should put down, but isn't sure whether it'll be useful later on.

Then he leans out a bit, flicks a switch outside the door, and the lights flood on. I squint, almost blinded, and can make out a second silhouette, nearly as tall as Blackthorn, but with longer hair.

Skye. That jerk.

When my eyes are used to the light, I open them fully, only to see both Skye and Blackthorn staring at me, the door closed and probably locked.

"Jillian Brook," Blackthorn says, patting one of the seats around a small table. "Please sit down. We have much to speak about."

I get up unsteadily to my feet, the room starting to spin. I have to lean on the wall because it hurts so much.

Skye starts to come towards me, but I hold out my hand to stop him because I know he has something to do with this. I limp my way to the seat and sit down heavily, breathing fast.

"Talk-" I start, my voice sounding like I've gargled with rocks. I clear my throat and try again. "Talk a-about what?"

"What have your parents been up to?"

My brain feels fuzzy, and whatever I can recall is forced out of my mouth the second I think about it. It's almost as if it's not me controlling my body. "I don't know. They aren't around the house often."

His face contorts in something resembling anger. "I asked you what your parents are doing, not whether they spend enough time with you."

I feel my jaw go slack. "What? I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. You simply do not want to turn them over for treason, do you?"

That catches the attention of my foggy brain. "W-What? Why treason?" I ask, feeling as if I'm half-awake. I turn myself away a bit when Skye sits down.

"Do not act as if you do not know, for surely you do."

I shake my head, which sends the room spinning. I take a few seconds to recover, my forehead pounding. "I don't."

Blackthorn leans slightly across the table, lip curling. "You do. And you will tell me, or I will—"

"Father, I think that might be going too far," Skye says quickly. "She obviously doesn't know anything."

I resist the urge to look at him. He's the one who brought me to the Goddess Pond, after all, and that's probably where they trapped me. So Skye's in cahoots with my captors. But why me? I didn't do anything!

"I want to know what's going on. I'm in a cell," I say, glancing around the tiny room. There's a bed, the table, and my blood smear. That's it. "I'm allowed to know why I'm being held." I think. I hope.

Blackthorn gets and smiles frostily. "I'll humor your request." He pauses for what seems dramatic effect. "As you likely know, your parents are helping the resistance greatly, which is quite bothersome, to say the least."

I stop breathing. "What?"

"And you are to be held here until you give up all the information you know." Blackthorn smirks, as if he's enjoying my reactions. "By any means necessary."

I slump forward, head hitting the table, sighing. I'm not cut out for this. "I'm guessing these 'means' won't involve fluffy and cute things, right?"

"A sense of humor? Do not expect to have one when this is over." With that he heads out the door, leaving me in the room with a traitor.

Skye takes a breath. "I know you might need time to absorb all of this, but—"

"Just shut the hell up, Skye."

I can picture him smiling, making my stomach flip horribly. I grimace as he says, "I remember when you told me that the first time we spoke."

"Correction: the second time." I remind myself that I'm angry at him. "And be quiet. I don't appreciate the input of people who hurt me."

"Now, Jill—"

My throat squeezes, threatening to choke me of the little air I have in my lungs. "Just stop, Skye. Just stop." I take a shaky breath, surprised at how close I am to crying, and sit up to look at him. "I don't want your apologies. Do you know how meaningless they are right now? To think I used to worry whether I hurt your feelings."

My stomach feels like it's sinking, my chest feels like there's something restricting my breathing. I hiccup.

"Jill, you don't understand—"

"What's there to understand?" I wipe my eyes, trying to keep the tears back. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. "That you helped your dad _capture_ me, for something _I know nothing about?" _I ask, voice cracking several times. A tear trails down my cheek, and I hiccup again, pain lacing its way up my side.

"Jill—"

"Shut up. Now," I sniff. By now, tears are making their way freely down my face. "I think you should leave."

Skye's eyes are disbelieving. "Jill—"

"Leave. Now." When he still stays at his seat, I give up. "Please."

Skye finally seems to get the message and gets up. He looks like he wants to say something as he's going out the door, but he closes his mouth, face pained. "You know I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, you managed to anyways. Feel special?"

Skye sets his jaw. "No, I don't."

It's only then that I let myself cry.

* * *

><p>I've been through a lot of strange moments in my life. Most involving Skye, like Beach Day, or the Fireworks Festival.<p>

But none of that can top being comforted by the person you're crying over.

Obviously, I push Skye away, because I'd rather die in my own company. But after my crying drains me of energy, and all that's left is a running nose and red eyes, I give up. I just don't care anymore.

As I sit on the floor, sniffing and rubbing at my eyes, he asks, "Feel a little better?"

"No, 'cause you're here."

He nods and takes a seat on the floor next to me. I move away. "That's not changing."

"I still want you to go."

Skye sighs. "I know. But I'm sorry."

I look away. "You're not. So can you please leave?" I just want Skye out, even if he did 'help' me. He got me into this mess in the first place.

And I can't stop the hatred that boils everytime I look at him, threatening to spill over and burn me like acid. It's normal to despise the person who helped your captor, right?

"Why would you do that?" He knows what I'm talking about—what else is there to speak of?

Skye opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "No, don't answer that. I know already that you're not sorry; I don't need your excuses. So can you please to leave before I break down again?"

He sighs and nods, getting up. "I don't like knowing that I am the reason you are crying, Jill."

"_That's _not changing, Pretty Boy."

"I remember you called me that the first time we met—"

"Out. Now." I grit my teeth, restraining the urge to wipe off the smirk I'm sure he has on. "Leave me the hell alone." I'm not going to cry—I'm too drained for that—but I'm still not being nice. I'm staying angry, damn it, or there'll be hell to pay, on his part.

I can still see Skye's feet in my field of vision. I kick out with my leg, nearly catching him behind the heel. He jumps nimbly out of the way and I growl at my miss. Damn it.

Skye gets the message. "I'm sorry."

And the door finally closes behind him.

I let my head drop into my palms, my nails digging into my scalp. "I hate you."

_I hate you, Skye. _I take back what I said—thought—as I ripped up that picture of him. Now, I only wish I can do the same to his face. Jerk. Heartless traitor. Soul-sucking demon.

And, _Skye, _it's not gentlemanly to get the only girl who actually _likes _you captured. Oh, wait, you never did. Because I sure as hell don't like him. not now, anyways.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hey, guys! Sorry it took so long. And I'm surprised no one's mentioned it, but it's been bothering me. Why is Skye, who's older than Jill by about a year or two, still in school when graduation is 16? Well, he's getting extra schooling, and it just so happens to be at the high school he went to. That's my reasoning, anyways.<br>**

**And, people, I need your help for my next story; a dystopian, again. They're so fun to write and the characters, I find, get a bit deeper than just usual romance novels because of what they go through. Anyways, the 'summary' is on my profile, likely the first on in my section of plot bunnies. If you can't find it, just look for the word dystopian. Anyways, back to the help part: I need ideas for titles. Just from the summary, I'd like your input on what it should be. What I'm hoping for is one that doesn't start with the word 'the', but if you can't think of anything else, I'll appreciate your help. Thank you so much to all those who suggest ideas!  
><strong>


	19. Happy Frickin' Birthday

The Shade Law

Chapter 19: Happy Frickin' Birthday

I wake to the sound of voices: Skye and Blackthorn's, locked in a discussion, it seems. My chest starts to ache, but I tell myself I'm being stupid and force the anger back until it all but blurs the pain.

"I just don't understand! Why isn't the ring working?" Blackthorn says. I hear a thunk as something—presumably a fist—hits the walls that my cell and the hallways shares.

"I don't know, Father."

"With the power of the ring, it should be easy to obtain the information from her! Those useless machines were meant for this!"

I sit up. Machines?

"Well, perhaps they aren't as active within her colorings," Skye suggests.

I get up and lurch over to the wall. I press my ear to the concrete, fingers immediately finding a chink missing in it, and I grab onto the small lip in the material. I feel as if I have to hold onto something to keep myself grounded.

"No, it can't be possible! Every batch gets the same amount and every person their share of those godforsaken nanos! They always work."

This doesn't sound too good.

"Well, then, there could just be less than usual. It certainly isn't normal, but not unheard of. You admitted yourself that I have less of them in my colorings."

I hear a growl, almost feral. "Yes, yes, but that was on _purpose, _to test whether the ring could control a low concentration." A rough laugh. "And we've proven that it clearly possible to do so, right, boy?"

Skye's voice wavers a bit. "Yes, we have. Then I don't have a guess as to why it would be hard to extract the information, other than she might not know."

"She knows. And of course you have nothing to add to this conversation." A thwack reaches my ears, and I imagine Blackthorn hitting Skye on the head, like friends do when you're acting particularly stupid, but less...friendly. "Getting soft, are you? Trying to help that wench?"

"No, no, of course not," Skye says softly, then adds, "Father."

I can practically hear the smirk in Blackthorn's voice. "Good; otherwise, this ring would have seen some use today."

"There won't be any interrogation today?" I can tell Skye wants to change the subject.

"No. Yesterday drained me of my energy, so the interrogation will continue tomorrow." I hear a few hollow footsteps, leading away from my cell. They stop. "And do please inform the morgue at the Hospital that it might receive a new arrival within the next days."

After a shaky 'yes, Father", Blackthorn's footsteps fade down the hallway. Skye's, lighter and quicker, follow after a few seconds' hesitation.

I limp back to my bed and immediately fall onto it, exhausted from the short walk. My disrupted breathing sends me into a coughing fit.

I wipe some blood off my chin and smile drily. _Well, damn great birthday this turned out to be._

* * *

><p>Turns out I have a guard, a guy that looks like he can punch through concrete and no trouble dealing with the bruises. No, not cuts, broken bones, not even a missing finger, but <em>bruises. <em>Yeah, that's right.

I wonder why I even thought I didn't have a guard. How stupid do I think Blackthorn is?

But, in my defense, I'm not allowed to set foot outside my cell until what seems like a day after my initial 'discussion' with Blackthorn. So I only get to meet my guard then, when he escorts me to the bathroom.

On the way back, after checking the bathroom for windows—no luck—I'm marching down the hallway when I see Skye. I lower my head as he gets closer, gritting my teeth a bit. I flinch when he starts talking.

"Do you mind me accompanying you to your...room?"

"Cell," I snap. "And, yes, I do."

"I'm still coming, you know, Jill."

I sigh in defeat. "Fine." I grin slightly. He notices and I add, "Just don't touch anything." But the smile disappears quickly and I tug at the handcuffs my guard slapped onto my wrists. Skye frowns.

So he follows me—and my guard, obviously—to my cell. The guard unlocks the metal door and pushes me in. I bite my tongue when I fall on my stomach, chin hitting the floor, my hands still in handcuffs, and blood fills my mouth. I curse and spit.

"Hey!" Skye says, glaring at my guard. "Father will have your head if you hurt her!"

My guard—I'm tired of calling him that, so I'll refer to him as Guard (bonus points for the originality, huh?)—laughs roughly. "Who's goin' to tell 'im, huh, boy?"

Skye continues glaring at him, but says nothing further in my defense. He mutters something as he slips past Guard, who closes the door behind him.

"Wha' was that, Pretty Boy?"

Skye shoots a venomous look at him. "Nothing."

"Thought so."

I see Skye shaking, probably from annoyance or possibly anger, but he just takes a deep breath. His shoulders drop as he exhales. Even a blind person could tell he wants to punch something.

"Uh, thanks, Skye," I say from the ground, voice twisted from my hurt tongue as I'm trying to get up without much success. He helps me to my feet. My tongue jars against my cheek and I gasp with pain.

Skye apologizes, steadying me when I'm standing. I jerk my arm away, nearly losing my balance again. The chain rattles loudly, like nails on a chalk board, like I can feel it in my teeth.

"Thank you, but you didn't make much of a difference."

"I know, but—"

"So why couldn't you do the same when your dad said...well, basically said he's kill me I give up the information that I don't have?" I ask, trying to broach the subject of these 'nanos', or whatever they called them. Maybe mentioning what I heard will help with that.

For the first time, ever, I see Skye swallow nervously. He licks his lips. "Well, I'm not exactly...brave around Father."

"Define 'brave'."

Biting his lip, he says quietly, "I've learned not to be quite so liberal with my opinion."

I tilt my head. "Why not?"

Skye looks away, eyes shifting to something in the corner. His fingers play a steady rhythm on his leg. "It's better that way."

I narrow my eyes, not at all convinced with the answer. But why am I trying to dig so deep? And, surprisingly, he's answering. "You mean your father'd beat you otherwise."

There's a pregnant pause before he responds. "Not—" He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Not exactly."

Seeing him nervous and uncomfortable sort of tilts my world out of focus. What I thought what was for certain changed. "What do you mean? Does this have to do with the thing I heard about the ring and colorings?"

Skye smiles slightly and I feel blood rush to my face. "I should have guessed that you had eavesdropped once you mentioned my not standing up for you."

I glare. "You're avoiding the question."

Skye sighs and returns the look. "You're avoiding acting like you used to when you talked with me."

I blink. "Touché. But you're still avoiding the question: Does this have anything to do with what I heard?"

"Yes, it does." He sits on the ground, acting as if he's really given up on keeping his secrets. I brush away the twinge of guilt that appears.

"Elaborate."

Skye looks up at me with poorly concealed pity-seeking eyes. "Only if you promise you won't laugh."

I start to giggle, only because the statement is so childish, so out of character for him, but quickly work to stifle my outburst. "Promise."

"Do you know how the ring works, correct?"

I shake my head, not really comprehending. "No."

"Well, basically, there's small nanos in the colorings that attack cells and, as proven, can control the host." He looks at me seriously. "And the only way to control the nanos is with the ring."

My eyes boggle. "But—doesn't that—it can't—"

Skye chuckles at my incoherency. "Yes. Whoever wears the ring can conceivably control a human being. And since it affects cells, it can also heal wounds. But it takes a lot of energy."

A memory of Skye at the Goddess Pond, months ago, tired and bruise gone. "So that bruise..."

"Yes, again. The ring."

"But how does this connect to your dad beating you?" I ask, thinking he might be trying to distract me.

Skye's eyes widen slightly, like he just remembered. "About that," he starts, voice shaking. "Father kind of uses the...ring."

My jaw drops in horror, something clicking in my brain. "You can't possibly—he can't use it to make you—" I stop there before I say what I'm scared is true. I mime what I can't bring myself to say, hoping he'd get what I'm trying to say.

Skye goes pink. "Yes." He drops his gaze, like he's ashamed. "He does."

But I continue to stare. How could...that's horrible! Geez, no wonder he's embarrassed. Imagine your father making you beat...yourself. Holy, Goddess. Suddenly I feel horrible prying.

"I'm sorry, Skye. I shouldn't have asked." I say under my breath, "What a—"

"Jill, you don't have to. You cared enough to ask, and that's better than not having someone to care about you."

I sit down next to him. "Well, this birthday officially sucks. I'm locked in here; I just heard what some sick person does to my friend—"

"It's your birthday?"

"Yes, if it's the twenty-fourth. It is, isn't it?"

Skye nods. "It is."

I laugh sarcastically. "Great birthday so far. I always wanted to know what kind of twisted person your father is, but he's in a whole league of his own."

"Well, then, this probably means nothing, since what's happening, but I wish you a 'happy birthday'." Skye smiles, despite the way our conversation has went.

My face warms slightly. For some reason, I'm a little happier. "You don't know how much that means, actually."

And he doesn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! This is the version that hasn't been revised yet. Since we all can't have like three exams (like me!) I'll be posting my poorly edited version of the chapters earlier and re-posting the version my beta sends me at a later date, just so you guys won't have to live with any possible cliff-hangers for more than a few days. (*hint*hint*)<strong>

**...What? What'd I say?  
><strong>

**(PS: Don't forget to check out the poll I've set up for the title of my next story! So far, only one person has answered it, and I'd like more people's opinions, so I can see the overall choice.)  
><strong>


	20. Going Crazy

The Shade Law

Chapter 20: Going Crazy

"I hope you are enjoying your stay, because you are not leaving this place until you give up that information," Blackthorn says. "Now, we are going to...talk, and it will be much easier for you if you just give up your parents."

"What do you mean by 'talk'?"

He smiles. "You'll see."

As my guard escorts us—specifically me—to wherever we're going, I start to panic. The way he said that didn't sound too good.

The room we enter is cold and severe-looking: metal table, smooth tile floors, and no windows to speak of in the white walls. And three chairs around the table, two on one side, and one on the other. The one chair by itself looks different, though.

"Please, take a seat."

I purposely avoid that one chair and sit down in one of the others. Blackthorn frowns and looks at my guard, who walks over and forces me to my feet. He sits me down in the very seat I'm avoiding, despite my many attempts to sidestep him.

Blackthorn takes the chair I just vacated, forming a tent with his fingers. The silence grows and I can hear the small creaks the metal chairs make. Every single one.

Finally, Skye shows up, slightly pale. I don't take my eyes off the table, hardly daring to breath. Maybe this won't be _too _bad.

I nearly laugh, but this isn't exactly the right situation to be laughing in. _Right._

"Good. Now we can begin the questioning." Blackthorn reaches for something in his pocket and pulls out the ring. I follow it as he puts it on. He tightens his fist.

Suddenly, I don't feel too safe sitting in this chair.

"You knew that your parents are working for the rebels, correct?"

I gulp and shake my head. "No."

My limbs suddenly feel like lead, and I can't move. A tiny zap ripples through my body, leaving me stinging. "Ow!"

"And that will happen every time you answer incorrectly. So, I ask you again, you knew this prior to our discussion?"

These questions are starting to get on my nerves.

I grit my teeth and hiss, "No, I didn't; you're the first to tell me." Is he delusional or something, like he's convincing himself that I _must _know something?

"Wrong."

Another electrical jolt, stronger than the last. I groan, but find I can't move. Is he keeping me still with the ring while he electrocutes me? The thought makes my stomach churn.

"What are your parents doing?"

"I don't know."

Another shock, this time so painful that I have to stifle a scream.

"Tell the truth."

"I am!"

And I scream.

Skye is quiet throughout, glancing between me and Blackthorn. Black blurs the edges of my vision and I feel like I'm going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both.

"I don't know," I pant, slumping. "Anything." I cough, blood trickling out of my mouth.

"Yes, you do!"

Another jolt. I grunt as my head hits the table. Maybe it's better not to look at him. Why isn't Skye doing anything?

"The truth," Blackthorn growls, clearly growing impatient.

What did he want again? My head's fuzzy and blurry, like my memory is gone in a thick fog. Why is Mr. Blackthorn hurting me?

I try to think through the now constant buzz of pain, but I can't. I have enough trouble keeping myself from passing out. I can't breathe.

Mr. Blackthorn pounds the table irritably. "Tell. Me."

I remember that I don't have an answer to that question. Why can't I think clearly? "I-I don't k-know..."

"One last chance," he says, looking down his nose at me slumped in my seat, head on the table.

I steady my voice. "I don't know anything."

"Fine. Tomorrow, then."

I finally let the world go black. The last thing I remember is Skye's worried face.

* * *

><p>The world zooms into focus a few hours later, as far as I can tell. I'm back in my cell and when I put my hand to my pounding head, it comes away bloodied.<p>

It takes a few seconds for me to remember. Maybe that's why my wounds reopened.

So no matter the pain I will undoubtedly feel, I try to judge the scope of my injuries. I can't sit up, so it's a little harder.

A gaping cut in my head. A large bruise on my side. A lacerated tongue. What I think is a fractured rib. Numerous electrical burns. A few small scrapes. And that's just what I can see, on the outside. I wonder if I have internal bleeding. I mean, that's what can happen if you break a rib and it pokes in an organ, right?

The burns are second only to the pain in my head. They're red and when I touch one—very stupidly—I have to bite my lip to stifle the scream that rips its way out of my throat, my lip quivering. _Goddess, that hurts._ I make a mental note not to do that again.

I feel delirious with pain, like I'm drunk on it. I can barely move, but I force myself to sit up. When I finally manage it, I'm crying, tears pouring down my face.

I realize that that hurts, too.

So I try to stop crying, which makes me sob harder. It hurts too much.

I slowly ease myself to my feet. My soles hurt, too, but I force myself to stand and I nearly collapse to my knees.

I know being up and around so early isn't good, but I need to get up. I need to walk. My legs were going numb. I take a few steps forward, and then walk back, falling asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

* * *

><p>Waking up seems to getting all over my last nerve. Last time, I woke up to go to a painful interrogation. The time before that, I woke to a conversation that ultimately lead to finding out about Blackthorn, and now, well, maybe it's not so bad.<p>

When I'm shaken awake, I find myself staring at a pair of aquamarine eyes. Skye places his finger against my lips, signally me to be quiet and whispers, "Get up."

I blink blearily, the pain already submerging me, and my surroundings slowly come into blurred focus. "W-Why?" A ask, my tongue and headache making it hard for me to speak. I groan with pain. I force a smile so he can tell I'm awake.

He smiles softly, tugging me to my feet, careful of my injuries. "I'm finally going to be brave."

Our conversation from however long ago comes back to me, jolting me awake. "Not if it gets you hurt, you're not. Why put yourself in danger for me?"

Skye laughs. I think vaguely that he might have gone crazy, or he's till in that dreamy haze you're in for a few hours after waking up. "That's what makes it worth it." He smiles devastatingly. "Beautiful."

Yep, he's gone nuts.

We get out surprisingly easily. My guard is nowhere to be seen. And being a notorious Thief that has never been caught has its benefits, it seems, which, among other things, includes crazy hearing. I'm sure Skye stopped me at least seven times when he heard footsteps that _I _couldn't hear, which is saying something, if the way we first met is any indication.

There _was_ a heart-stopping moment, right as we were to go out the door, when the guy standing by it looked directly at us. But his gaze passes right over.

But the trip gives me time to thinks things through. By the time we're outside, my soles and head hurting, I'm angry. Why put himself in danger to save me?

The second we're out of earshot, I jerk my arm away. Skye looks at me, hurt crossing his features.

"What was that for?"

"The hell was that for? For frickin' taking me out of there without so much of a warning!" I throw my hands in the air. "And let's not forget the stunt you pulled of _actually breaking me out."_

"Jill, it was my decision. You don't have to get angry."

"The hell I don't!" I growl, Angry tears well up in my eyes. I can't imagine what I would do if he got hurt for me. "You could've gotten hurt!"

"I know, Jill—"

"Then why'd you do it?" I ask, breath hitching. "Did you ever stop to think that _maybe _it's not worth it?"

"Jill—"

I cut him off, oblivious to the way he looks at me, almost as if he's worried. "No, Skye! Do you know how much you could've been hurt?"

"I know, Jill."

I hiccup. "Then I have no idea why you would do that other than—"

"I l—"

"—I don't get it. _You _don't seem to get it. Are you suicidal?" I feel like tearing out my hair. My voice drops. "You father could've—could've—" He opens his mouth to say something, but I won't have any of it.

"He could've hurt you more than I can imagine, Skye." I take a shaky breath, searching his eyes for something—anything—that makes any sense at all. Why would he so that? "I don't think I could live with that. Why would you do that? Tell me! Show me! What in the Goddess' name makes you not care about your own safet—"

I don't say anything more. I can't. Can't exactly talk when Skye kisses me in the middle of a sentence.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Jill and Skye, sitting in a tree~ K-I-S-S-I-N-G~<strong>

**You know how it goes. Chapter 21's in the works right now, about half-way done, so don't worry. You won't have to live with this cliff-hanger for days.  
><strong>

**Maybe. :D  
><strong>


	21. Once a Thief

**Tempest Bound: Warning: There's cussing in this chapter. Like, three times. Just telling you.**

* * *

><p>The Shade Law<p>

Chapter 21: Once a Thief

My female friends, specifically Muffy, have told me what their first kiss felt like. How soft his lips were, how warm they felt, how they just wanted to—and then I would cut them off, hoping to keep my innocent little brain rated PG.

But the first thing I think when I realize the reason for my difficulty speaking is because Skye's kissing me is nothing of the sort.

_Holy, shit._

I think that maybe I'm just being delusional, that maybe it's me that's going crazy. Skye can't be kissing me. I must be drunk or something.

Why else would I want to kiss back?

I try to remember how this could've happened. I was angry, I know, but _why _was I mad again?

I pull back, and Skye's hand—how did I not notice it?—drops from where it was resting on my cheek, my face burns like a bed of hot coals.

"U-Um, Skye?" I ask, voice shaking. _Holy, shit. _

"Hmm?"

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is air. I try again. "What was that?"

Skye smiles. "A kiss, obviously."

I roll my eyes, but then I realize how close we still are. I feel my face go even redder. "I wouldn't have ever guessed," I say sarcastically, hoping to mask my—embarrassed, weirded-out, what the hell—reaction. "Let me emphasize: _what _was the kiss for?"

He laughs softly, and suddenly I feel lightheaded. "It's much more polite than saying 'shut up', isn't it? After all, gentle men strive to be courteous."

I bite my lip. "I'm not so sure it's less rude than saying 'shut up'."

Skye smirks slightly. "Well, can you imagine yours truly saying such a thing to you?"

Honestly, I can't "No."

"Well, then," he says, no hint that he notices my flushed face as he takes my hand. "I guess that's your answer, hmm?"

I still don't know why the hell I'm not angry with him. "Whatever."

* * *

><p>Apparently, Skye knows where my house is. Well we <em>did <em>first meet there (which makes this sound like some mushy love story) and he did drop off those—love?—letters.

I only don't know where my house is because it's night, okay? Everything looks different when it's dark out.

I knock on the door, Skye refusing to let go of my hand no matter the threats, and when no one answers, I try the doorknob. Locked. I sigh, find the extra key hidden near the window, and unlock it.

Of course Mom and Dad wouldn't be here.

All I really feel like doing is dropping into a dead sleep, but I can't exactly do that with Skye here. He absolutely refuses to let me go until my wounds are taken care of. I lie and say that they don't hurt so much, but he doesn't believe me and insists that either I dress my burns and cuts on my own, or he'll do it for me, whether I like it or not.

Trying, in vain, to go to sleep, I say, "What if I don't know where the first aid kit is?" But when he raises one disbelieving eyebrow, I sigh. "Under the sink."

Skye smiles. "Good."

I stick out my tongue. "I hate you, too," I say, and, strangely, I don't mean it.

He laughs, already looking in the cupboard under the sink. "Whatever you say, Beautiful."

Impulsively, I remark, "I don't really like it when you call me that. Or 'Maiden'." I think for a few seconds. "Or any other absurd nickname your head can think of."

He looks up, first aid kit in hand. "Why not?"

I shrug, sitting down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "It's almost like you're saying there's nothing good about me besides my looks, which I severely doubt I have in the first place."

Skye's eyes soften as he takes the seat next to me. "I am, by no stretch of the word, trying to imply anything of the sort. Do you really not like me calling you that?" When I nod that, yes, I don't like it, his eyes are slightly confused. "Odd. Most girls enjoy being called 'Beautiful'."

I glare, the tiny part of me that worries about fitting in hurt. "Well, I'm not one of them, then."

I flush as he kisses me on the forehead. Why isn't he all awkward, too? "That I'm glad for, Jill."

I look away, eyes landing on the first aid kit. I reach for the burn cream, but Skye stops me.

When I glance at him curiously, he just smiles and says, "Let me. After all, it is my fault you are in this shape in the first place."

Even if that's what I thought previously, I blink, aghast. "No, it's not. I mean, your dad would've done...that otherwise. So I can't blame you."

"Yes, you can. I could've stood up to him."

"You did." I look up at him through my eyelashes. "And, for that, I have to thank you."

Skye doesn't seem convinced. He takes the cap off of the tube of cream. "I hope I don't hurt you more than I have already."

"Goddess, how many times do I have to—" I say, but stop, smiling devilishly. "You know what? 'Shut up'." So I make him.

I pull back after the kiss, still grinning. "How do you like a taste of your own medicine?"

Skye laughs, pressing his forehead against mine. I blush, realizing what I just did. "I quite like it, actually." He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.

"Well, you won't get another kiss, you know."

"Why not?"

"'Cause you touching one of my burns." And of course his reaction's priceless.

* * *

><p>It's only an hour or so until daybreak, and I don't get a chance to catch a few minutes of sleep. Mom and Dad aren't home by six, so I basically say to hell with it. Celia is usually up by now, with the farm and all, so I decide to go help. Maybe I can ask why she's acting so weirdly.<p>

Leaving Skye at the house would be a bad idea, so, as much as I don't want to, I let him come with me.

He's bugging the hell out of me, anyways.

The trip to the farm is short. Nothing worth mentioning. The real fun begins when we get there.

Obviously, I expect everyone to recognise Skye. I mean, silver hair is not exactly common, and you can't really mistake him for anyone else. Even the way he carries himself is distinct.

But not one girl says 'hi; on the way. Not one fan girl glares in my direction as we pass. Rock doesn't even make a stupid joke as we walk by. It's as if they sense that they would get kicked if they were to interfere. Well, maybe the glare makes it obvious.

Skye is unusually jumpy, but with what happened, I can't blame him.

Vesta smiles and hugs me when we get there. "Where's have you been? You didn't come by for days!"

My mouth feels like it's filled with cotton. "Didn't Mom say anything?"

Her eyes are confused. "What do you mean?"

Skye takes my hand, and I resist the urge to brush it off. "Oh, nothing. They're not at the house that often, so I'm not surprised they didn't mention me."

Vesta takes notice of Skye, and there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Isn't that President Blackthorn's kid?"

I nod uncertainly, afraid of her reaction. "Yeah. He goes to our school."

She smiles, confusion brushing her features. "Oh. Celia mentioned him or something."

I grab at the opportunity. "Speaking of Celia, have you seen her? Shouldn't she be up by now?"

Vesta nods. "Yeah, she's been up since the crack of dawn, she has. But she went into Inner City, saying something about telling something to the Law Keepers."

A sense of dread pulls at my gut. "Did she say anything about what it was?"

Vesta shrugs, nodding in Skye's direction. "Something about him."

We run back home—well, more accurately, I sprint, while Skye gets dragged along.

"Why are we running? What's the rush?" he asks, easily keeping up with me.

I frown. "Something tells me we need to get home. Like, now." As I fumble with the lock, clumsily dropping the key in my haste, I mutter, "And turn on the television."

Even more confused, Skye just nods. The second we're in, I hit the power button on our old TV set, impatiently jumping from foot to foot.

"Come on, come on."

The screen lights up with an electrical blip, static playing in the speakers for a few seconds. After what seems like forever, the screen and sound clears. What I hear stops my nervous fidgeting in its tracks.

"—Thanks to the information provided by a citizen, I'm making an announcement."

On screen, a crowd of reporters are flocked around the stage. Blackthorn stands at the podium, mouth at the microphone, addressing the throng. But that's not what makes me freeze.

It's the fact that Celia's standing on stage with him.

"Celia?" What the hell?

"—This lady has informed me of what I think everyone here wishes to know." A pause, then he leans closer to the microphone. "The identity of the Phantom Thief."

A curse slips out of my mouth as the reporters starts shouting questions. Not Celia!

A smug smile appears on Blackthorn's face, contradicting his next words. "No matter how much it pains me to say this, I must tell you."

Skye paces behind me, nervously glancing at the TV every few seconds. "This doesn't sound too good."

I shush him.

"The Phantom Thief is my own son, Skye."

_Shit._

Another twisted smile flickers across Blackthorn's face. "But, citizens, I must announce something else." I can tell he's enjoying this. "He's not my son. Not anymore."

A particularly persistent reporter pushes past others and I can barely hear the question he asks over the din and the blood rushing in my ears. "What do you mean, President?"

"I've disowned him."

"That—that—" I can't think of a word bad enough to describe him.

"Now, Jill."

"Why are you so calm about this?" I ask, refusing to believe that this is reality. I pinch myself. No good. "Your dad just _disowned _you! Heck, you were just as nervous as me a few seconds ago!"

Skye smiles smugly. "Yes, but we have something he doesn't."

I throw my hands up. "Oh, _excuse me, _Mr. Secrets. What, pray tell, do _we _have that _he _doesn't? And why would this make a difference?"

Taking something out of his pocket, Skye opens his clenched fist. My eyes widen.

_Well, once a thief, always a thief._

Resting delicately in his palm, is the ring.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: What? Aren't cliff-hangers fun? No?<strong>

**Fine.  
><strong>

**Two updates in one day, one chapter that was finished for practically a week while the other half done. Not bad, I must say.  
><strong>

**I still love cliff-hangers, though.  
><strong>


	22. Returning the Favor

The Shade Law

Chapter 22: Returning the Favor

"Um, Skye?" I start uncertainly, staring at that godforsaken ring. "H-How'd you get that?"

He closes his fist, and the ring is gone from sight. Laughing humorlessly, he says, "Doing the only thing I'm good at: stealing."

I take Skye's hand, uncurling his fist to take the ring, my own fingers interlocking with his. A steady heat makes its way up my arm, like warm electricity. "You're good at other things." I smile. "Including messing with my head."

He smirks. "Of course."

"Do you think your dad's noticed yet?"

Skye nods uneasily. "Yes. He kept clenching and unclenching his hand when he gave the announcement." I raise an eyebrow, to which he answers, "I've...borrowed it from him multiple times, as you well know."

I laugh. "Yes, I do. But between freezing girls and healing a bruise, I'm not so sure about what that says about your personality." I smile teasingly. "Don't worry; I've seen worse." _Like Blackthorn, _I add in my head.

"Good, because I was getting concerned." He seems to realize something. "Wait, what do you mean by 'what it says about my personality'?"

I notice the slight curve to his lips and I know he's teasing. I smile wolfishly. "Oh, you know. Freezing _girls _and healing something that would only affect looks. What does that say?"

Skye grins. "That you're paying attention to what I do?"

I blush and punch him on the arm. He actually winces. "No."

Even as he's rubbing at the place that I punched him, he laughs. "Well, maybe it says something different."

I realize that the subject of our conversations change quickly.

* * *

><p>Mom comes home hours later to find Skye and me talking in the living room. She stops, puzzled, in the doorway, key dangling from where she put it in the lock. Skye smiles pleasantly, which seem to shake Mom out of her stare.<p>

She looks at me, gesturing towards Skye and concealing her stare at our interlocked fingers horribly. "Jill?" Mom smiles stiffly. "Who's this?"

I let my eyelids droop lazily. "Skye," I answer simply.

She strides over to us, false, painted smile on her face for Skye, and jerks me to my feet. I wince as her fingers tighten around a particularly bad burn. She doesn't notice as she drags me into the kitchen.

I remark that that didn't make much of a difference, since the doorway opens directly into the room.

"Jill," Mom hisses lowly, roughly releasing my arm. "I'd like some answers."

I glare, hurt and anger mixing into a lethal cocktail. "_You _want some answers? How about _me?" _I motion to the living room. "I've asked you for months about what you're doing, and now you just expect me to give you all the details of my life _that you haven't been a part of for so long? _You didn't even notice my burns and cuts, did you?"

Mom's eyes are angry, practically spitting flames. "Of course I did. And I haven't told you for a reason."

I huff, rage making me shake. "What reason could you possibly give for not telling me you're working for the rebellion?"

Mom's mouth falls open. "How did you—"

"How'd I find out?" I laugh drily, side and throat hurting from whispering. "The same way I got these burns; I was captured for interrogation, complete with torture! But you wouldn't know that, would you?"

Her eyes are wide by the time I've stopped for a breath. "Jill—"

I cut her off. I'm getting too good at that, it seems. All I know is that this fight won't end the same way. "Mom, you don't even notice your only daughter's missing for days, or the wounds she wears when you finally talk to her." I cross my arms. "That's all I'm going to say."

I just walk away. I don't even waste the energy to look back at her.

Skye gets up when I walk into the room, still fuming. "What happened?"

I glare back at the kitchen door. "Had a fight with Mom."

"About what?" he asks, trying to look me in the eye, but I turn away. "Come on, Jill, you can tell me."

I look at him, sitting down heavily on a chair. "Everything." I lean back, sighing. "She didn't even notice that I was gone for days!"

Skye moves a chair over so he can take a seat next to me. "What do you mean? How could you not become aware of your own daughter's absence?"

"That's the thing; she did just that! She's at 'work'," I glance at Skye, to make sure he knows what I'm talking about. I wait for him to nod before I continue, "All the time, so she's never home. But I would think that she would at least know that I wasn't here."

"Well, I see why you're so angry, but she _is _here now."

The calendar catches my eye. When I see the date—specifically, how close we are to a certain one—I pause, but quickly try to hide my surprise so Skye won't notice and try to find out what I'm planning. "That doesn't fix much," I say distractedly. I'm too busy calculating what I need for what I want to do and how much it would cost.

Skye raises an eyebrow at my tone. "No, it doesn't." He looks over his shoulder, studies the calendar for a few seconds, and then turns back to me, confused. "Why are you all of a sudden so distracted?"

I wave away the question, still thinking. "Nothing. It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

I smile at him, the remnants of my bad mood disappearing as I realize the money I need can be just covered by the amount Mom gave me for my meal at the Inn, which I never did get to spend. I have it, so why not? "Yes, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>Weeks later finds me in the kitchen, frowning and frustrated. Not with Skye, though. He sleeps, after much persuasion and threatening on my part to Mom, in our guest room. I still haven't told her about who he is, but she isn't around enough to care or notice.<p>

But what are giving me trouble are cookies. Yes, cookies, evil things they are.

Mom came in earlier, asking if I needed help, but I bristled immediately and said 'no'. I'm not getting any aid from her.

Now I'm regretting it. But I draw upon the memory of her yelling at me when I was younger and had accidently spilled sugar and the feeling dissipates quickly enough.

I'm not a horrible baker, if that's what you're thinking. Mom's been teaching me to do just that since I was little. It's just that I haven't baked anything for a while; I never had a reason to. But now I do.

I glance at the clock, and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it's only noon. I'll have enough time to finish up without rushing.

Skye's out. Don't ask me where, because I don't know, but I might have a good guess: the Goddess Pond. So I don't have to worry about him interfering.

And the reason I'm even trying to make these cookies in the first place is because it's Winter Thanksgiving. What? You think I wouldn't celebrate it? Well, that's what Muffy would think...or Celia, but I haven't seen her since the announcement.

I wipe a bit of dough off my fingers, leaving a smear of flour in its place, and put the cookies in the oven. I sit at the table and reach inside the bag sitting on it. I rip open the packaging of the cellophane, throwing out the wrappings, and lay out the blue-tinged plastic.

I take a pair of scissors and cut out a square of the material, roughly the size of a dinner plate, if slightly bigger. When the cookies are done, only seven of them, some slightly burned—oops—I stack them in the middle of the cellophane and tie the whole thing at the top with a piece of ribbon.

I grin, glad that I'm done, and think about why I'm giving these to Skye. Well, I guess you could say I'm just returning the favor. I'm not going soft.

Maybe I could just give them—no, no, that wouldn't work. I would chicken out at the last second or be reduced to blushing mess. I won't have that.

Then there's always just leaving them on the table, hoping he would just pick them up and ask. But that doesn't seem right.

What I end up doing is something that I should've thought of in the first place. I put them in Skye's room, just like he did with mine on Spring Thanksgiving. I even attach a little note that says 'this is in return for Spring Thanksgiving' or something like that.

I just might like him more than I originally thought.

Skye comes back later, just as I'm sneaking out of the room. I curse quietly and tip-toe to my room, hoping he didn't notice or hear me.

As I'm thinking about actually cleaning my room of the stacks of books and papers, I jump when I hear, "Hi, Jill."

I turn around, glaring good-naturally. "Don't do that. You almost gave me a heart-attack."

Skye smiles and leans against the doorframe. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

I grimace and return to staring at the book in my hand, contemplating where I could put it. "Don't make me throw this at you, Pretty Boy." I glance up. "How's the outside world?"

He shrugs. "Not so different as yesterday."

Rolling my eyes, I set the book down. "No, really? I would have never guessed." I pick up a pair of pyjama pants and an oversized t-shirt. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get ready for bed."

Skye leaves, smiling knowingly. "Of course. I should probably head to my room now, as well."

I swear sometimes, he can be so infuriating.

Later that night, I roll over in bed. I hear a soft crinkling noise, like paper folding. It's muffled, so I feel under my pillow and find a small note. I squint, trying to read it, and nearly start laughing. When did he write that?

_Thanks for the cookies, Jill._

_-Skye_

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! Sorry that this took so long; something came up. If you want to know what happened, let just says this:<strong>_  
><em>

**This chapter is dedicated to my rabbit, Snowball. 2006-June 18th 2012. I'll always miss you.  
><strong>

**Hope that this chapter was worth waiting for! Only 8 more to go!  
><strong>


	23. What Did You Say?

The Shade Law

Chapter 23: What Did You Say?

The next morning, I'm walking down the steps to get to the kitchen. A flurry of white catches my eyes, and, when I look, a smile breaks across my face almost subconsciously. It's snowing!

It's funny how, no matter how old you may get, you're always happy at the sight of the first snowfall. I smirk as an idea pops into my head, sparked by the possibility that Skye may have never really played out in the snow. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I sneak past the kitchen, making sure Skye doesn't notice me as I pass, and open the front door gingerly. Scooping a bit of the already inches thick snow from the doorstep, I make a snowball. I tip-toe back to the doorway of the kitchen, barely containing my laughter. I can already imagine his face.

I peer in, making sure that he isn't looking, and then throw it at his shoulder. The softly packed snow lands with a thwump, a burst of white powdery snow and a jump from Skye.

He turns around, eyes wide and surprised, but when he catches sight of me, my smile and my hand dusted white, he glares good-naturally.

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

I laugh giddily. "Hell, yes. It's the first snow of the season!" Even if I find it weird that he didn't immediately want to retaliate, I rush forward and grab his arm, tugging towards the door. "Come on! Let's go outside!"

Skye digs in his heels, stopping any and all progress. When I glance back at him, his eyes are more scared than I have ever seen them. "I-I don' really _like _snow."

I look at him quizzically. "Why?"

He shrugs uneasily, trying to shake off my hand. "No reason."

I huff irritably. "Well, there has to be a reason to not like snow! You better tell me, or so help, Goddess, I will drag you out there and make you do a snow angel." I'm only half-joking about the last part.

"Jill," he says, watch me carefully for any sign that I will keep my promise.

"Skye," I say back, using the same tone he had. I smile when he sighs in defeat.

"Fine."

I sit down on the couch, ready to listen. "Okay. Fire away."

Skye looks at me weirdly. "What?"

"Tell me about what happened."

He blinks. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant 'fine' as I'll go outside with you." He laughs a bit. "Though I do not know why you would want to. You don't seem like the type."

I get up and smile knowingly. "Well, then, you don't know me as well as you thought." So to prove my point, I head out the door and pick up another handful of snow, smirking at Skye's face through the window. He sees my look and smiles roguishly, like he's saying 'oh, it's on now'.

Well, maybe not exactly.

The second he passes through the door, I fire the snowball, hitting him on the arm. I think vaguely that we should be wearing some form of jacket or something, but I barely have the time to wonder as he scoops up some snow.

I laugh. "That's more like it!"

A sudden feeling of ice blossoms on my shoulder, stinging like heat or pins-and-needles. Skye's smile tells me that he's got a hit, and I don't spare a glance at my shirt as I make another snowball, throw it, and, while Skye's distracted, run behind the house and out of sight.

I peer around the corner, still smiling. Skye's looking around, obviously wondering where I am. Taking the opportunity, I launch myself at him, tackling him to the ground.

We land with a thump, and, immediately, I realize my back's pressed up against the ground. How the hell did he get on top?

My question is answered by a breezy laugh from Skye. "You'll have to try harder than that, Jill."

I open my eyes, grinning up at his flushed face. "Well, you're not the Phantom Thief for nothing."

I hear footsteps coming up the path. They stop next to where we are in the snow, belonging to a pair of booted feet. "Jill?"

I look up, Skye getting to his feet, to see a vaguely familiar face. Black hair, red eyes, pale face. My eyes widen as I realize who it is. "Leith?" I scramble to my feet, still studying his face. "It _is _you! Wow, you've grown!"

And he has. Judging from his height and face, he would be about fifteen. Well, he's probably only barely a year-old in reality, but he looks like a teenager.

Leith smiles. "Yeah, I have." He looks past my shoulder, eyebrows coming down in confusion. "Who's this?"

I glance back at Skye and smile sheepishly. "Oops, sorry, Skye. You're probably confused as to who this is." He nods and I take a step back, so they can see each other more clearly. "Skye, this is Leith. Leith, this is Skye."

Leith scrutinizes Skye. "Aren't you that Thief? You know, President Blackthorn's kid?"

Skye nods carefully, eyes narrowed. I take his hand, and Leith eyes widen just slightly, gaze flitting quickly at our hands, face barely changing except a subtle angle to his eyebrows. I tilt my head, confused. What's wrong with him?

As he's about to say something, a gunshot makes all of us jump. Everyone whips their heads towards the noise. That sounded too loud to be too far away.

I look back at Leith, and Skye tightens his hold on my hand. "Leith, I think you should head home. It's not really safe," Another gunshot. "As you can obviously tell."

He looks at me almost condescendingly. "I can take care of myself."

Despite my surprise at his answer, I say, "I know you can. But I also know who would win in a battle between you and someone with a gun. And let's just say it wouldn't be you."

He kicks the ground, and grumbles. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going."

After he leaves, I realize that he didn't say 'good-bye'. But I brush it off and say to myself that he just forgot.

* * *

><p>When Skye and I get into the house, soaked and shivering, but never the less smiling, Mom and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table, furiously writing and typing into notebooks and a laptop, respectively.<p>

"Mom? Dad?" What are they doing home?

Dad glances up, still typing. "Hey, kiddo." He doesn't even bat an eyelash at Skye and my interlocked fingers. "If you're wondering why we're home, listen to what's happening outside."

I pause, trying to listen past their typing and scribbling, and I can hear the not-so-distant shouts of men and gunfire. A flare brightens the street for a few seconds. Another round of gunshots follows quickly, indistinct and muffled.

I have to sit down, my stomach feels so queasy. "Is it really that bad out there?"

Mom nods, still writing, not even looking up like Dad did. "It is."

My mouth feels like it's filled with cotton, but I swallow past the feeling and clear my throat. "Uh, okay. Am I bothering you with my questions? I think I'll just go upstairs."

Mom waves a hand at me as I'm getting out of my seat. "Thank you, honey."

I stop and smile weakly. "Sure thing, Mom."

* * *

><p>I'm lying down on my bed when my door opens. I flip over onto my back as Skye leans against the doorframe, unsure whether he could come in. I smile and laugh softly. "If you're not my parents, then you can come in."<p>

He sits on my bed, about a foot away from where I'm sprawled out, feet hanging off the edge. "You're sure you're okay?"

My head lolls to one side. "What do you mean?"

I feel the bed move as Skye shifts slightly. "Are you okay? You didn't seem too happy when we came in earlier."

I sigh, playing with a loose thread on the blankets. "When your...charge—I guess you call him that—basically flips you off and your parents says they don't want your company because they're too busy, I don't think you'd feel too hot."

"No, I guess you wouldn't. I just hope that you know that there's always someone there to help."

I prop my head up with my hand, elbow digging into the mattress. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm still sort of angry with my parents, and you can't change my mind."

Skye smiles. "I didn't intend to."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, of course you wouldn't." I sigh and lay back down. "You know, this can't really keep going on, this war."

He stays silent for a few seconds. I continue, "Well, maybe it could, but I don't really think it will. Or maybe it will, I don't know." I close my eyes, raking my brain for a change of subject. "Did you like those cookies I made you?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

I laugh drily and say what's been on my mind ever since Spring Thanksgiving. "Maybe you don't really like me."

"You know I like you. Quite a lot, actually."

"I just keep wondering why you would go after me, not some chick drooling over you. Remember them?"

He doesn't laugh. "I do, and you know I never had any interest in them. Don't you recall Beach Day?"

If only I couldn't. "Of course. That doesn't mean that you meant what you said."

"Jill, I'm many things, but what I'm not is a liar." I chuckle at his small joke, but I stop when he doesn't laugh along with me. He's serious.

"I know, I know," I say. "But you can't blame me for my insecurities. I'm only human."

"Everyone is."

"So, like I said," I answer, sitting up to look at him in the eye. I wince at the sound of another gunshot before I continue, "You can't blame me for my insecurities."

Skye smiles softly. "You don't have to feel that way. I lo—"

The door opens, cutting him off. I glare at the interruption. Mom stands in the doorway, all-business, serious. I look back at Skye, who looks like he wants to disappear. What did he want to say?

"Jill, we need your help."

I shake my head. "With what? I hope it's got nothing to do with the rebellion. I don't want to have anything to do with it. I don't like Blackthorn more than the average person, but that doesn't mean I want to go to jail." I probably will, either way.

She storms over, grabs me by the arm, and jerks me to my feet. I flinch at her tone as she drags em out of the room and down the stairs. "You are helping, whether you like it or not."

What the hell?

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hey, guys! What do <em>you <em>think Skye was about to say? Hehe.  
><strong>


	24. Not So Bulletproof

**Tempest Bound: If you're wondering about the paper Jill's Mom is referring to, it's real stuff. Rice paper is used for icing cakes and such, like with photographs. I just thought it's be cool to use it like this. Don't ask how I know this, because you will be scarred by my incredibly dorkiness.**

* * *

><p>The Shade Law<p>

Chapter 24: Not-So-Bulletproof

Mom sits me down roughly, taking the seat across from me. On the table rests a single piece of paper, rolled up like a scroll. I hear the stairs creak behind me. Skye must be coming down.

"Mom," I start, rubbing my arm where she grabbed me when she pulled me to my feet. "What the hell's happening?"

Dad stares at me, and then looks down, shaking his head slowly. He seems at a loss for words, just continuing to scribble and type. The scroll rolls slightly to the left as he brushes eraser shavings from his paper.

"Jill, we need you to do something." Mom says, taking the tube of paper from the table and sealing it with a bit of wax. The gesture seems so outdated that I almost start laughing, but Mom's face stops any thought of that.

"Do something?" I growl, resting my chin in my palm, elbow on the table. Let her guess what I'm thinking. "What? For the rebellion?"

Mom nods slightly. "Yes, but for us, as well." She looks at Dad. "For everyone."

I lean back with a sigh, head lolling to the side. "What's this 'something'?"

Mom's suddenly stern-faced, and places the scroll in front of me, completely emotionless. "Take this." When I do, lifting an eyebrow at her, she says, "And bring it to the headquarters of the rebellion."

"Wait, right now?"

"Of course. This can't wait."

"Mom, there's a battle going on outside," I say slowly, as if she can't possibly be asking this from me, and my statement's punctuated by a round of gunfire. Shouts follow soon after, sounds of men dying and booted-feet tramping up and down the road in a dead sprint.

"Yes, I know."

My eyes go wide. "But, I can get shot!"

Mom frowns, eyes hard as flint. It's almost as if I'm eye-to-eye with a shark: dark eyes that have no remorse for who they kill, as long as they get their fill. "What of it?"

I look towards Dad, heart pounding, for some sort of support. He can't let this happen, to his only daughter, no less. "Dad?"

He doesn't look up. "Do what your mother says, Jill."

I look down at the scroll, the thing that is sending me on this undoubtedly suicidal mission. "You can't be serious."

"I'm as serious as I can be, Jill." Mom gets up. "You have to leave right away."

I notice my breathing has gone off the charts. My head hurts and the room is starting to spin. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat and fail miserably. This is what it must feel like to hyperventilate. "I don't even know where I have to go."

Mom unfurls a map, which, again, seems so outdated. She points to a spot near the Goddess Pond. "There you go. Now, leave." As I'm shakily getting to my feet, she adds, "Oh, and if you're captured, eat the paper."

My mouth falls open. "Eat it?"

Mom guides me to the door, as if she can tell I wouldn't have done it if she just left me to my devices. "Yes, eat it. It's written on a special paper that dissolves when it comes into contact with saliva."

She opens the door, lets me out, and, as she's closing it, I stop it with my foot, unable to resist one question before anything happens. I'll probably never get the chance to ask it otherwise. "Why can't you or Dad do it?" I know it's selfish, but can't I be self-centered if my life's on the line?

A pregnant pause. "Because we're needed." And then she slams the door in my face.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, the distance I would cover almost nightly when I was six seems so much longer and riddled with danger. Or rather, riddled with bullets.<p>

I jump at every sound, every noise that vaguely resembles a gun discharging. The distant popping noises of bullets hitting trees fills the air, closer and closer each time I hear it.

The scroll seems a little heavier every step I take. And I think something's—or, rather, some_one_—is following me. I hear a twig snap once, but it might just be an animal that's been scared by the din.

I hop over a dead log, cursing lowly as my shin scrapes a stray shard of bark. Warm blood starts to trail down my leg, slipping off uncomfortably from my foot and soaking my shoe. I wince as my muscles absorb the force of impact as I set it down. Ow.

As I'm leaning down to check the extent of the cut, the shouts I have been hearing for the past minute get louder, feet crashing through the underbrush. As quick as I can, I tuck the scroll under a nearby log. I don't want to _eat _that thing; do you?

Right as I'm crawling into the bushes surrounding the small—very small, actually—clearing, I feel a tug on the scruff of my shirt. My collar's stuck on a branch.

Shit, shit, shit.

I fumble at the branch, trying to get my shirt loose, to make the branch snap, _anything. _But nothing happens. Soldiers crash through nearby bushes, shouting and firing behind them. Another group of men come after them, shooting at them in turn.

I scramble to my hands and knees, biting my lip. I duck just in time as the bark above my head explodes into pieces of bark. Random popping fills the clearing.

When I peek through some branches, I spot the first group pressed up against the far side of the tree line, facing the second group. They fire at the soldiers, and one falls to the ground, blood seeping out of his shirt. They don't even have armor.

A sudden burning pain rips up my leg. I look down, barely containing the scream that threatens my hiding spot, to find a round wound on my calf, bleeding profusely. I stare at it for a few seconds before it sinks in. I'm shot. Holy, shit.

My attention is pulled back to the clearing as the shouting starts up again. I can make out the words 'give up', 'stop', and 'he's hurt', but nothing else. I feel woozy all of a sudden.

I tear at my collar, finally getting it free and rip off my sleeve. I press it to the bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it hurts too much and will take too much time, so I just tie it around my leg, above the damage.

I try to keep my foot lifted above the ground as I crawl along on all fours, but the weight gets to be too much and I have to stop every few seconds of moving. The men are still fighting in the clearing, some with their fists when their guns run out of ammo.

My head breaks through the leaves, and I see the face of the first one to fall. But he's not even eighteen, maybe not even seventeen. A sudden feeling of nausea makes me stop and sit for a few seconds before continuing.

I creep my way over to the log where I hid the scroll, even as I tell myself that it's not worth it, that I'm better off just leaving it there. But what if it has information that could endanger the entire rebellion? So much for not getting involved.

The yelling stops. I ignore it, gritting my teeth from the pain, and stretch my arm as far as it can go, reaching to flip the log over. It falls over with a dull thunk, releasing a cloud of bugs, some as large as my palm. I gag and reach for the scroll.

Another shot makes me stop, and my hand slips from the ledge I was resting it on. I pitch forward over the edge.

But I don't fall. I open my eyes to find my face about three inches away from the ground.

Someone caught me by the shirt. And that someone, when I twist around, turns out to be someone that I know.

"Skye?" I choke out, grabbing the arm he offers me and pulling myself up and onto the damp grass. "When'd you get here?" The feeling of nausea returns with a vengeance. Is it possible to hurt this much from one injury? I feel weird, like I'm falling asleep, but not exactly.

Skye's face is serious, lacking its usual hint of mischievousness. "Just now."

I laugh painfully. "Well, thanks for the save, Skye." I point to my gunshot wound. "I mean, don't want more than this, do we?"

His eyes widen. "When did you get that?"

I wave my hand airily, the trees looking like their spinning. Why is he so worried? "Just now. Maybe before you came."

Skye's eyebrows come down. He helps me to my feet, but I refuse to put weight on my leg, leaving me hopping on one. "We have to get you home."

"Home?" I giggle. "Mom would be disappointed that I didn't die, I suppose."

He helps me sling my arm over his shoulder. "Well, I don't know about that."

I smile, the pain finally going away, leaving the area warm and stinging slightly. "Either way, I'm not too happy going home. Did you see what Mom made me do?"

We start walking down the incline, Skye making sure that I don't slip. "Yes, that's why I followed you."

"So that what I heard earlier! I thought it was a deer or something."

He doesn't say anything, which I find odd, but I don't say anything because I feel queasy. When we've walked what is probably only a short distance, he stops to let me rest on a log, my leg propped up so, as he puts it, I won't lose as much blood as if I was standing up. I notice that we're pretty close to the Hospital.

While I catch my breath, the shouting starts up again. I grin woozily. "I thought they stopped. Maybe they did, for a while."

Skye glances behind his shoulder, towards the sound. "Yes, they probably did," he says distractedly.

I tilt my head. "Why do you think there's only a few?"

Skye's starts to fidget. I think that maybe he wants to get going, so start to get up. "Likely only a skirmish that broke off from the main battle."

He stares at the tree line for a while; so long, in fact, that I start to walk down the path by myself, hoping that maybe he'll take the cue. But then a crack of gunfire startles me, and a weight sends me toppling to the ground.

Heart pounding, I look at what fell on top of me.

Lying there, hand clutched to his chest, where his lung would be, is Skye, bleeding and coughing from the bullet he took for me.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hey, guys. Sorry if this is really badly written, but I'm not in the mood for writing. You know Snowball, and how she..you know. Well, my cat got sick a few days after that happened, and when we took her to the vet, they didn't what it was, so they just gave us some pills to administer to her, and she got better. But, then, she got a fever, starting having this weird white discharge, so we took her back to the vet.<br>**

**She has a uterus infection. Now we have two choices.  
><strong>

**1. Put her down (no one wants to, but that might be what happens, ultimately)  
><strong>

**2. Do an operation. But, recently, we had some financial difficulties, and my parents are unwilling to pay the amount to needed to perform said operation.  
><strong>

**So, if she doesn't get better within the next few days because of the anti-biotics they gave her, we're more than likely going to have her put down. And she's only five.  
><strong>

**I'm sorry, guys, for dumping all this on you, but I want you to know what happened if I don't update for a while. I'm so sorry.  
><strong>


	25. Saving Grace

The Shade Law

Chapter 25: Saving Grace

"Oh, my Goddess!" I scream, hobbling my way over to him, whatever happy haze that enveloped me gone. "Skye, Skye! Shit!"

He coughs up blood, and I'm reminded of when I woke up in my cell. "Jill."

"Holy—Okay, what are you supposed to do in these situations?" Why can't I remember? How the hell am I getting accepted in the School? "Staunch the flow of blood, right? Shit."

"Jill."

"Wait, that wouldn't do any good; you probably have internal bleeding. Oh, my Goddess! Holy geez, why can't I remember? Shit, shit, shit!"

"Jill...stop worrying yourself."

"Stop worrying myself? Skye, you're shot!" My heart sinks at the sight of all the blood.

"So...are you."

"In my leg!" At the mention of said injury, I tear off the makeshift tourniquet, ignoring the rush of blood that starts to flow out, and press it against his chest, falling to my knees. "You could be shot in your lung!" I start to panic when I realize I can't see the entry wound with all the crimson.

"What are you...doing?" Skye asks, breathing heavily and barely able to talk.

I place my hand on his forehead, brushing back his bangs. "Shh, Skye. Don't talk. Please."

He nods, closing his eyes, and I remember the many times Mom told me about how bad it is to let a critically injured patient fall asleep.

I grit my teeth at the memory, but tears start to blur my vision. "Skye, stay with me. Don't fall asleep, okay?" He opens his eyes with difficulty.

Mom. If I'd never gone on this 'mission', this would have never happened. I let my head fall, forehead pressing against Skye's, tears wetting my cheeks. He wouldn't be hurt because of me.

"You're breaking m-my heart, you know?" The pain in my chest is enough evidence. It's my fault. All mine, not Mom's.

A sudden pressure on my cheek comes and goes quickly. My eyes fly open to see Skye's hand brushing away a tear from just under my eye. "You break...my heart when you cry, Jill. You're the type...that shouldn't ever be sad because of people like me."

I smile slightly, dejected, and kiss him softly. "Don't die. Please."

His breathing hitches, and, for a second, I think that it might end here, but then I realize that he's starting to cry, too. "I love you."

Still centimeters away from each other, I swallow. If this had been weeks or even days ago, I wouldn't have known what to say. But, right now, there's nothing I'm surer of. "I love you, too." _And maybe saying that isn't such a bad thing,_ I think, hiccupping.

"Jill..."

"Didn't I tell you not to talk?" I ask, pressing my hand to his cheek. "They always told me that at the Hospita—" I stop, sitting up.

"What's...wrong?"

"The Hospital," I whisper, beating myself up for not thinking of it before. Getting to my feet shakily, not paying attention to the pain that shoots up my leg, and says, "I can get help."

"Jill, you shouldn't—"

"Yes, I should! Would you rather die?"

He looks at me seriously. "Yes, if it would save you...some pain." A shudder travels through his body.

My breathing has gone hay-wire. "I'd rather lose my leg than let you die, you know. I'm going." I start to limp towards the Hospital then turn around. "It's literally yards away, so I should be back within a few minutes."

I return to my slow progress to the Hospital, wincing at every step, but nonetheless determined. The forest swallows me up after a few feet, destroying any visible contact I have with Skye. The ground is wet and soft with dew, so it's not too harsh on my injury.

I start to wonder whether I went the wrong way just as the trees thin, and, lo and behold, the Hospital stands in front of me, the familiar walls and sounds calming me, if only a bit.

"Help!" I shout, trying to catch attention. When I try the doors, they're locked. The streets are empty. "Please! There's someone that's been shot!"

No answer.

"Please!" I cry, frustrated tears wetting my lashes, and I pound on the doors. Leaning my forehead against the wood, I let out an irritated scream. Why isn't anyone answering?

"Miss? What seems to be the problem?"

I jump at the voice and look up.

An orderly's head pokes out of a window. Smiling, I hobble backwards for a better view, breathing a sigh of relief. That wasn't too hard, I guess.

"Yes! Finally!" I clench my fist. "My friend and I are both shot."

His head disappears and then reappears after a few heartbeats. "I'm afraid we can't help."

My breathing stops. "What? But there must be some Doctors around here!"

He nods. "There is. But the battle is still in the City, and it is not safe to venture out right now."

"I know that; why do you think we got shot? You have to help us; he's injured in the chest, maybe even his lung!"

Another disappearing act. He must be talking with someone else. Only his hand reappears this time, reaching for the handle of the window to close it. "I'm sorry, miss; that's your problem."

I stare at the window. Frustration and anger boils over, twisting my stomach. "Then why the hell did you ask in the first place?" I scream, oblivious to the pain licking up my calf. "Idiot!" I kick the ground, but a jolt of pain makes me stop and curse loudly.

What am I supposed to do now? The weight of the situation brings me to my knees, but I refuse to let any tears fall.

There's always Mom. But the very thought of asking my mother to help us makes rage turn my vision red, so I reluctantly brush the option to the side. I don't want to burn bridges I may need, but the thing that makes me decide against it is the fact that I wouldn't make it up that hill in time.

The same goes for any other choice, since walking to any place, by my guess, would take too long.

Could I just head back to Skye? A defeated, shaky sigh makes my shoulders droop. Is there any other option? Can't exactly just stay here, wasting time.

I get to my feet, stomach sinking at the thought of the inevitable. Skye can't die. He can't.

The trek back seems longer than I remember. Maybe it's because I'm scared. Nervous. Worried.

When did I fall in love with him?

Skye lays where I left him, still breathing, thank the Goddess, but with difficulty. His face is pale, but his glassy gaze brightens some when I kneel next to him.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, wiping his brow. "No one—"

"Jill, don't...be sorry...for trying," he says, every word sound tortured and forced. I can't imagine the pain he must be in.

My throat tightens. "But I couldn't do anything for you." I clasp his hand in mine, pressing it to my forehead, lip quivering. "You must be thinking I'm selfish to ask to stay with me, even if you're in such pain, right?"

Skye tightens his grip on my hand. "No...I don't." A coughing fit makes him stop talking, and I wince at the rough, hacking noise. He groans after the fit passes, not bothering to wipe the blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth. I do it for him, the pain in my chest tugging on my heartstrings.

My eyes flit to the log where I hid the scroll, then to where it lays, feet away.

I reach for it, intent on ripping it to shreds for what it caused, but a sick curiosity makes me stop. I want to know what important message is on it.

Slowly unrolling it, the wax cracking, my gaze passes over the short sentences. What is says makes me chuck it at a nearby tree. Livid can't describe what I feel right now. Hatred seeps into my head as a way to express it.

_Don't worry, Jack. We're still working for the rebellion. Our daughter, your cousin, is aiding us in our efforts._

They sent me on a suicidal mission...for reassurance? 'Important', they said? I'd like to take that 'important' message and see their faces as I toss it to Blackthorn. To hell that I would get arrested! Why the hell would they send me on such an errand?

A weird, aquamarine glow makes me look down. The bullet-hole shines, almost white, and Skye groans in pain as a black shape emerges from the puncture wound.

It's the bullet.

The projectile, still whole, is thrown to the side, hitting and entering the bark of a tree.

I stare, wide-eyed, as the skin around Skye's injury flows together, mending the wound, not even leaving a scar. Skye's chest lifts up, and there's a shattering noise. A shard of what resembles glass nicks my knee.

Skye's eyes flutter open. Breathing heavily, I place my hand on his chest, right where the bullet used to be. He sits up slowly, no sign of pain on his face, replaced with...exhaustion?

"Skye? W-What just happened?"

He stares in awe at his once-injured chest, placing his hand over mine. "How—it worked—but how—"

I swallow, hiccupping. "What worked?"

Skye looks at me, eyes wide and round, reflecting my stare perfectly. "The ring."

I rub my eyes, not getting it. "The ring?"

He grins ecstatically. "Yes, the ring! I thought it wouldn't work, since it would take too much energy, but something must have happened, and it worked by itself!"

I pick up the shard of what I thought was glass. "So, it broke?"

He takes the piece of gem from me. "I guess it did. What are we doing now?"

Overwhelmed by what just happened, I can't think straight. I tackle him, kissing him hard, tears pouring down my face, but, either way, I'm laughing. "Oh, my Goddess! You're alive!"

He laughs along with me. "Yes, I guess I am. But I think that was a little slow, Jill."

I feel like I can breathe again, even if I'm hiccupping and laughing at the same time. And to think I always thought that tears of joy was just something you hear about in movies or books.

"What are we going to do, now that this is over?"

I grin, still so happy I'm crying. "We're going to give my parents a piece of our minds, that's what!"

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: I'm very happy right now. So happy I could cry. I did, actually. And you know why? Cocoa, my cat, got the operation! Haha, yes!<br>**


	26. Rooftop Star Viewing

The Shade Law

Chapter 26: Rooftop Star Viewing

The air in the house has always been tense, ever since Mom and Dad started their new 'jobs'. But it can't possibly compete with the atmosphere that envelopes the room when Skye and I—him helping me limp in, since the ring had shattered and it only works on the wearer—walk in.

Mom almost seems surprised to see us. But she hides it well enough.

"Honey, what happened to you? You look awful."

I snort, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs. Just because Skye's alive doesn't mean that I'm not angry with her. Even if the reason he got shot in the first place is my fault. "Don't call me that."

"Why are you so snappy?"

I roll my eyes. Skye takes a seat next to me, and says, "I would be, too, if I had been shot, Mrs. Brook."

Mom eyes him in disgust. I wonder how my mother became this person. "She's shot, is she?"

"Yes," I hiss. "Mother. Why else would I be limping?"

"Oh." Her expressionless face doesn't change. "I thought that you had simply scraped your knee. Again."

"Again?" I shake my head, completely disgusted by her reaction. Aren't mothers supposed to worry about their daughters? "Is that all you can say after I've been _shot_?"

She looks at me. "Did you expect something else? I'm busy."

I wave an arm at the papers sitting on the table. "Busy with what? Sending other useless pleasantries to cousins with your daughter, who you expect will be killed on the errand?"

Mom returns to writing to something. "Are you still bitter about that? It's is not my fault you were careless and got yourself injured."

Skye stands up and slams his hands on the table. The papers and a glass of water shake. "Of course, Mrs. Brook. It was not your fault that she got shot. You weren't holding the gun, correct?"

Mom smiles slightly, like she's happy got her point, however twisted, across. "Exactly."

"But it is your doing that Jill was out there in the first place."

"And the reason why Skye almost died," I add, eyebrows pulling down.

Mom gets out of her chair, hair swinging, to pick something up from the counter. She sits back down with the stamp in hand and presses it onto an ink pad. "I am simply doing my job."

"If your job is to kill as many under aged people as you can, you're doing a fine job at it."

"What do you mean?"

I motion towards the door, wincing as my leg moves, compensating for my slight weight shift. It still feels like it's burning, hotter now with the adrenaline draining. "At least one of the men in the group that shot me was below the subscription minimum. There might have been more."

Suddenly, her eyes are the ones that would comfort me when I woke from a nightmare when I was younger, but then their back to their now usual steely coldness. A muscle feathers along Mom's jaw. "That is not my job, and you know that. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."

I stay in my seat, but Skye tugs my arm, urging me to get to my feet. I comply, but not before I ask, "Then what _is _your job?"

She sighs, returning to her paperwork. "I am only doing what is best for the City." She sets her jaw, looking up. "Even if it takes some casualties."

"So if I die, I'm just another casualty? The ends justify the means, in your eyes, doesn't it?"

Skye manages to lead me out of the room, but I hear the whispered comment my mother makes: "Not always."

* * *

><p>Mom and Dad stay at home, thanks to the waging war outside. Surprisingly, none of the soldiers try to enter our house, or any other house, for that matter. You'd think Blackthorn would be willing to do anything to get his paws on my parents, thus handicapping the rebellion.<p>

But nothing happens.

So, I hide in my room. But after a while and no sign of Skye—he's made a habit of inviting himself to my room—I go searching for him. Maybe I can find him without running into my parents. But the chances of that happening might be slim, considering the time it would take to explore the house, with my injury.

Skye insists that walking around with the wound will only aggravate it, but you know me. I can't sit still long without going stir-crazy, as it were. But that doesn't mean I don't regret my choice the second I put my foot to the ground. Not at all.

I check the guest room first, since it's right down the hall. I knock on the door, wait for a few seconds, and try the door. It's unlocked, and I venture inside, only to find no sign of Skye.

So I try downstairs—avoiding the kitchen—the living room, the basement. Nothing. I sigh and make the painful journey up the stairs again, tip-toeing past the open door of my parents' 'office' and up to my room.

I sit on my bed, wondering where he could've gone. Surely not outside, for obvious reasons.

A sound above me makes me rethink that. He couldn't have gone outside...right?

* * *

><p>Skye proves me wrong. He <em>did <em>go outside. But not in the way most _normal _people go about doing it.

He's on the roof.

My first clue is a loud thunk that comes from the roof. Then some cursing, which makes me start laughing, because who would've thought Skye even _knows _those words, much less said them? Maybe I'm rubbing off on him.

When I stumble to the window, open it and stick my head out, I crane my neck so I'm looking up. "Skye?"

Another thud. His head appears at the edge of the roof, smiling sheepishly. "Yes, Jill?"

I grin, anger with my parents fading to the back of my mind. "The hell're you doing up there? How'd you even _get _up there?"

He pauses. "By my window."

"Yeesh," I say, already pulling myself out of the window and onto our sloping roof. "So, you got up there, without me or my parents hearing?"

"I'm not the Phantom Thief for nothing, as you've told me."

I grab the arm he offers me, sucking in my breath through my teeth as my leg throbs. "Then explain the noises I heard just now."

He waves the question away. "Just reaching for something. Almost fell off the roof." He notices my pained expression, glancing worriedly at my leg. "You should really go to the Hospital."

I let the subject drop, grimacing. "Nah, it's not _that _bad. Besides, I can't leave the house with the war going on."

"I guess so."

I take a seat next to him, leaning back so I'm looking at the sky. Pinpricks of light glow in the night sky, the expanse the furthest to the west barely orange and pink. "At the least the stars are nice tonight."

"Well, it _is _the Starry Night Festival. It would be a shame if the sky was cloudy, wouldn't it?"

I scratch my cheek. "It is? Wow; time sure has passed. It seems so long since we first met."

From the corner of my eye, I see Skye lying down next to me on the roof. His arm brushes against mine. "Hmm."

"Or maybe when you left me that note. Remember that?" I say, tracing a constellation in the sky. The muffled sounds of my parents discussing makes me clench my teeth. When there's no answer, I turn around to face him. "Skye?"

He shakes his head, as if just coming up out of water. "Huh?"

"You weren't listening, were you?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry; just thinking about something."

I sigh and face the sky again. "What about?"

"When we first met."

I smile, folding my hands on my stomach. "So you _did _listen. Well, at least, to the first part. What about our first 'meeting'? You never did tell why you were here that night."

He sighs, head resting against his hands. "Let's just say it all comes back to my father."

I pause, hearing the catch in his voice. "You don't want to talk about, do you?"

"Not so much."

Usually, I would insist and pry, but, thinking about what happened today, I don't push, nodding slowly. "Tell me if you want, Skye. I'm not going to force you." The silence is answer enough, and my chest aches a bit to think that he doesn't trust me enough to tell me. To change the subject, I say, "Is it really the Starry Night Festival?"

"Yes. Why?"

I smile softly. "I remember when Mom and Dad would spend the festival with me, sitting outside, sharing blankets and...just being a family together."

Skye shifts a bit. "That sounds nice."

I snort. "Yeah; like they would do it now." The cold finally getting to me, I shiver. "Did you and your family do anything for the festival?" I doubt it.

"Not really. Mother would always say that we would spend the festival as a family, but it never happened. Or as far as I can remember."

"Oh. Speaking of your mother, what's she like? And what does it feel like to have a younger sibling? I wouldn't know."

"Mother? She's nice. She used to be a little more outgoing before, but the way Father acts made her the way she is today." Noticing my shivering, he wraps an arm around me. "And about having a younger sibling...well, I wouldn't know much, either."

Unconsciously, I lean my head against his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Father doesn't like me to be with Alex. Something about me being a nuisance."

"Nuisance? What on earth would make him think that?"

He sighs. "I think it might just be that he doesn't want my influence on Alex's perception of him. I'm guessing Father wants him to learn by himself."

I shudder, thinking about poor Alex. "No wonder I don't see him much. Your father messed up, you know?"

I can hear the smile in Skye voice as he says, "I know. I just never told him."

Smiling, I move a little closer to Skye, thinking about what happened today. "You should."

But all I get is silence and the twinkling of the shining diamond sky. The words Skye said the first time we met rings in my head. _It's written in the stars..._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Hi, guys! Cocoa greets you with a cone on her head and a shaved belly! <strong>

**Anyways, only a few more chapters to go! And you know what I just realized? All the answers can't be revealed within the chapters I've planned (hehe...oops) so...there might be a sequel to _The Shade Law. _The (ish) summary should be posted after a certain chapter, since it will contain a spoiler, and only if you guys like the idea of a sequel. Actually, I have pretty much everything planned out, ever since the stupid plot bunny attacked me a few days ago, and so it's more likely to become a reality than not.  
><strong>

**Let me hear what your opinion is in a review! (P.S. The WizardxMolly fic's title has come down to two options: _Hiding__ Scars _**( the word 'Hiding' subject to change, if I can find a better word for it)** or _Branded. _Your guys' pick!)  
><strong>


	27. Foreboding

The Shade Law

Chapter 27: Foreboding

Shouts wake me the next morning, jolting me into consciousness. Feet pound up the staircase, loud and thundering. I slide out of bed, adjusting a strap of my top, but the door opens before I even reach it. Soldiers pour into my room. The hell?

Two rush up, and from under their visors, I can tell that they're young, barely older than me. They grab my arms.

"The hell's going on?" I yell, twisting in their grip. Their only response is to tighten their hold on me, dragging me out the door. "Hey! I want some answers!"

They obviously weren't informed about my bullet wound, since they're so rough with me. I whimper audibly as my leg jostles against the steps. When the movement stops, I look up to find myself in the kitchen, facing Mom, Dad and Skye, each held by their own pair of guards.

Panic starts to rise in my throat as I remember my captivity not all that long ago. "W-What's happening?" I ask, voice high and shaky, eyes wide. I swallow.

"Shut up," barks one of the soldiers. I notice his uniform is slightly different than the rest. He must be in charge.

I jerk my arm, eyes still wide open, and growl, "Why are you holding us? Are you putting us under arrest?"

He walks up to me, seemingly calling my bluff of 'bravery', face inches away. "Yes, I am. President Blackthorn asked specifically for you two," he says, pointing to my parents, "And entreated me not to let the Phantom Thief and his female accomplice to escape."

I gulp discreetly, hoping he won't see how this whole thing has caught me off guard, and, well, scared me to death.

He smiles. "I'll be glad to keep that promise." Looking around, stone-faced, he barks, "Get moving, you lazy bunch! The President is not one to wait."

I grimace and mutter lowly, "How about some sanity? Could he wait for that?"

The man stops mid-step, turning slowly to face me. "I heard that!" A stinging sensation rips across my cheek, my head snapping to the side. From the corner of my eye, I see Mom and Dad's hint of pity and Skye trying to lunge at the man who slapped me. I whimper slightly.

"Good," the man says, leading the way out the door. "Maybe now she'll be quiet."

They drag us to a larger van, which windows are barred. Throwing us in, me yelping from the force of my leg hitting the bottom of the van, they slam the doors and I hear the distinct clicking of tumblers locking into place.

"Skye?" I call out, squinting through the dim light seeping between the cracks. "You there?" Grimacing painfully, I start to feel around, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

"Jill?" At the sound of Skye's voice, my ears perk up, and I sit up, biting my tongue to avoid swearing. I sat on my leg. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, rubbing my now swelling cheek, trying to shift to a less painful sitting position. "A few scratches; nothing to bad. How about you? Where are you, anyways?"

"Jill, honey, are you sure you're okay?" That's Mom.

"Yeah, kiddo." And that's Dad.

I ignore them, shuffling forward in the direction of where I heard Skye's voice. "Skye, where are you?"

"Over here," he says, starting to come into focus. My eyes must be getting used to the dark. I grin and hug him.

"What was that for?"

"What? Can't I get a hug when we're getting arrested?"

He laughs, the lilting sound seeming so strange in the suffocating darkness. "No, it just seems odd, don't you think? Are you sure you're okay?"

I open my mouth, about to say something, but Mom cuts me off, saying, "Jill? Why aren't you answering me or your father? We're not that far away; I don't think you would be so deaf."

_Just ignore them, Jill. _How could they be like that when we're in this situation? In answer to Skye's question, I say, "Don't worry about; I'm fine."

Skye tilts my chin up, eyes concerned. "You don't look fine. You're cheeks swelling up."

I sigh. "I know. But it doesn't hurt much." My statement is disproven within seconds; Skye's gentle prodding makes my yelp, earning a raised eyebrow from him. "Fine. It does hurt."

"How about your leg?"

At the mention of it, I wince and try to move my leg from under me. The simple movement makes me swear, Skye trying to help as best he can. "You can take a guess."

"That bad? Then—"

"Honey, I can't honestly think of a reason as to why you aren't answering us."

I clench my teeth, intending, for all purposes, to ignore them, but Mom's comment pushes me over the edge. "Mom, please, I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Why not? What could possibly—"

"'Why not'?" I glare in her general direction, hoping she can feel the ice. Skye grabs my arm, but I blow up, letting out the pent up frustration that's been building up ever since Skye and I got shot. "You're the reason I got shot in the first place! And you know what? I hate you for it! I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you!"_

The following silence is thick, almost making me think that I might've gone overboard with it. But then I just think that she has to realize what she doing, no matter how well intentioned, is not right. Not since people have been getting hurt. And the unsettling quiet settles in for the ride to our jail.

* * *

><p>I don't try resisting as they pull us out. As we walk, I move my jaw, trying to judge the extent of the swelling on my cheek with my hands held. Then I realize only Skye and his guards are with us.<p>

"Where are my parents?" I ask my guard, trying to twist around to look behind me. Even after that fight, they're my only keep-sake of my pre-war life.

"Being led off to their cells."

"Then why aren't I going with them?" I say. Catching Skye's eye, I correct myself. "We. Why aren't we going with them?"

"The President requested your presence."

We stop at a door. One of my guards opens it, leads us in, and, after he's sure we won't make a break for it, leaves.

"Hello, Ms. Brook," a voice says. "Skye."

We whirl around, only to find Blackthorn sitting at a table in the center of the room. One lonely gun sits in front of him, black and foreboding.

He smirks at our faces. "Please, sit down."

I take Skye's hand, warily complying. When we sit down, the gun comes sliding across the table to stop in front of me. I look up quizzically at Blackthorn, thinking things about his questionable mental state.

"I know your parents wish to see me dead," he says, leaning back, completely at ease. "What is your opinion?"

I grab the gun. It's heavy in my palm, weighted. "What do you think?"

"Good show." He stands up, jerks me to my feet, and stands me in front of him, raising the gun so the barrel rests on his chest. "But can you pull it off?"

My jaw drops. Is he really going to give me this opportunity? He really is crazy.

"Go ahead. Shoot, if you can."

Breathing heavily, I tense my arm, finger hovering over the trigger, but nothing happens. Skye watches quietly from his seat. I think about all that Blackthorn's done. Started a war. Made the Shade Law, which lead to the death of that young girl, and Leith's virus. _What he did to Skye. What he's done to him for years upon countless years._

Again, nothing happens. I drop my arm. I can't do it. _Why can't I do it?_

He laughs coldly, taking the gun and dropping it on the table. "Thought so?" He looks over to Skye, smirk cocky. "What do you think, boy? Pick the gun up." When Skye doesn't move, he shouts, "Now!"

Skye grabs the gun, eyes calm, but somehow angry. He stands up, Blackthorn stops in front of him, and I realize something. _He thinks we're bluffing. _He's going to put his life on the line, to _prove some kids wrong. _He's putting everything at stake, to satisfy some twisted thought that no one could hurt their _precious _President. He really is insane.

"So, it seems you took that ring, didn't you?" Blackthorn says, face turned away so I can't tell his expression. "You didn't know that there are ways to get it back."

Skye's face is puzzled, even as he levels the gun. "What? Father, the ring is _destroyed. _You won't be able to get it back."

Blackthorn leans in, trying to intimidate everyone, down to the last moment. "Why, yes, I can. You never did know that the gem came from somewhere. It wasn't created by Scientists; those idiots wouldn't be able to fathom the power that it holds."

"What do you mean?"

At the sound of my voice, Blackthorn glances over his shoulder at me, nose crinkling. "Someone like _you _wouldn't understand."

Skye's arm is shaking. "Where did it come from? The gem couldn't possibly be a simple gemstone, so—"

"Ah, you've finally said something intelligent." Blackthorn turns back to Skye, laughing. Can't he feel the tension in the air? "Of course it isn't a plain crystal. Nothing ordinary, I assure you. Mystical, even."

"What?"

"The Goddess Crystal is rumored to heal all ailments. It's a fabled piece of folklore, weaving in and out of traditional stories of this area, as you should know. The legends have survived to this day." A short bark of laughter, and his shoulders slump slightly. "No, not legends. Truth."

"You're crazy!" I shout.

"Crazy?" he asks, chuckling. "I guess I am. But what I say is true."

Skye has kept the gun pressed to his father's chest, but I can tell he's about to drop it, like I did. I don't blame him. But then the door opens, the room echoing with a resounding gunshot.

As rebellion soldiers, soot-covered, look at Skye, frozen, Blackthorn's body falls to the ground. Skye stares at his father, mouth open, and the smoking gun crashes to the floor. _He just shot and killed his father._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: I hate writer's block. So much. Anyways, am I the only one who feels bad for Skye? And if the confrontations scene feels slightly rushed, I'm sorry; that's the exact part where I got bit by those stupid writer's block bunnies. Evil things. And what Blackthorn said about the Goddess Crystal? Yeah, it's <em>kinda <em>true. So he's not _totally _insane. Or, rather, _was._**_  
><em>

**And, for some reason, I'm glad that he's dead, even if I don't like killing off characters. He just needed to go. He really did. And, since this chapter's up, so is I might as well put the summary of the sequel in here, as well. Take a look:**_  
><em>

**_The Goddess Crystal_  
><strong>

**Blackthorn's dead, the rebellion has won, and the Shade Law has been overturned. But, hunting after the legend of the Goddess Crystal, and with a new organization rising, Jill needs to figure out which side she's on, and fast. Because a familiar face is out for her heart-and her blood.  
><strong>

**If you're wondering, no, this isn't over. There's still two planned chapters until the end of this part of the story. Haha. XD  
><strong>


	28. Broken, Quirky Smiles

The Shade Law

Chapter 28: Broken, Quirky Smiles

The last of the gunshot rings in the room, hollow and definite. He's gone. Blackthorn's dead. And Skye, his son, killed him. The person he's beaten, put down, _scarred, _is the one to put him out.

Talk about poetic justice.

Though I expect joy, even relief from him, Skye just stares blackly at the blood seeping gunshot wound. Like he can't believe what just happened.

My attention is drawn to the soldiers, still standing in the doorway. By now, they've recollected themselves, shifting their guns to rest better in their arms. The brief seconds it takes me to look at Skye gives them the chance to train their rifles on us.

"Who are you?" demands the soldier closest to me.

"Jillian Brook," I reply, eyeing the barrels of the guns frightfully. "And that's Skye." Best not to mention his last name.

He straightens up, motioning to the others to lower their weapons. They do so, slowly. "Brook? Are you, by any chance, related to Jack Brook?"

I nod, swallowing. "He's my cousin."

"Come with us, then, and—" he says, turning, nodding at Skye, who still seems out of it, "—bring him, as well. We'd like to ask you two some questions." He mutters something to a pair of soldiers. They nod and stand off to the side as everyone files out of the room.

I stop when I realize Skye didn't follow us out.

_He's probably still in the room, _I think, turning back around. When I enter the room, the two men that stayed behind are rolling Blackthorn's body onto a canvas sheet. Skye continues to watch vacantly off to the side, eyes glazed over and head tilted down.

"Skye?" I ask, tugging on his sleeve. "Skye, come on. Let's go. We have to go."

He doesn't answer.

"They just want to ask us some questions; I'm sure they won't do anything." I try to look him in the eye, but he just stares past me—through me. And, frankly, it's scaring me. "They're actually probably happy he's dead."

A muscle feathers along his jaw line. His hair falling to hide his eyes, he bows his head, shoulders shaking slightly.

He's crying.

"Skye? What's wrong?" I ask, watching helplessly. "Why're you crying?" Not knowing what to do, I hug him awkwardly, him being so tall. Even though I'm not short—I'm actually taller than Muffy and Celia—he's got to be a few inches taller than me.

Skye's arms engulf me, and I feel the tears wet my shirt. Unused to this, I'm reduced to patting his back uselessly, his body shaking with sobs, leaving me feeling like my inside's are getting ripped open.

"Skye, Skye," I murmur, setting my chin on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

His only answer is to fist my sleeve and shake his head.

"I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong. Why're you crying?"

Again no answer. This time, he straightens up, rubbing his eyes. My heart rips a bit. He looks so young, so _innocent, _right now.

I notice the soldiers have left. "We have to go, okay?" I wait until he nods, still rubbing his eyes. "If you don't want to talk right now, that's okay, I guess. I'll answer their questions. Sound good?"

Skye nods again, looking up. His eyes are red, but he takes a deep breath, as if to steady his breathing. "Okay."

I give a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, however scratchy or gravelly. "Good. Let's go."

* * *

><p>When we finally manage to find the room, the soldier from upstairs is waiting for us, pacing impatiently. He glares at us when we enter before ushering us to a table in the room. A clipboard rests in front of his seat.<p>

"I'm only going to ask a few questions." His eyes dart to Skye, and I have no doubt he notices the red eyes, the messy hair.

"Shoot."

"Your names?"

"Jillian Brook and Skye."

"You're siblings?"

I nearly choke on my laughter; do we look alike, or something? "No, no; does it look like it?"

He jots something on his clipboard, shaking his head. "No, you don't; you simply didn't give me his last name." He glances up, waiting and expectant.

"Blackthorn." I look at Skye in surprise. Did he just give away his identity that easily?

The man's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"My name's Skye Blackthorn," he says, eyes never leaving the table.

"I noticed your hair was silver, but I'm not one to jump to conclusions. The son of the psychotic politician that ran the Government, huh?" He writes on his clipboard, nodding. "Okay, next question."

I tilt my head. "Huh? Aren't you going to—I don't know—arrest him or something? Not that I want you to, but why no reaction?"

"Blackthorn's dead. That's all Commander Brook wanted. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Wait, '_Commander' _Brook?"

"I'm asking the questions, Miss. Now, who killed the President?" Worried that Skye might react badly, I watch him while I answer, "Skye did."

The man nods, writing and muttering, "Killed his father..."

I swallow. "Is there any other questions?"

He reads over his paper, looks up and shakes his head. "No. You're free to go."

"What about my parents?"

"Freed earlier when we stormed the building. Asked for an escort to Head Quarters."

I nod, getting up. Skye seems eager to leave. "Did they ask about me?"

He looks up from writing. "No, I'm afraid not. Your house has, apparently, not been occupied by soldiers, so I assume it's safe to return. I just sent some of my men out to check around that area, so don't worry."

_Don't worry._

* * *

><p>The house is a mess, which I guess I expected. Papers, notebooks and shell casings litter the floor. I avoid the broken glass from a shattered window, pushing aside the couch when it gets in my way. Skye follows, still not talking.<p>

I sigh. Please, let him tell me what's wrong... "Skye? What happened back there?"

He stares at me, but, seemingly losing his nerve, shifts his gaze. Doesn't he trust me? "What do you mean?"

"You very well know what I mean."

Skye plunks down on the couch, head in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice slightly muffled.

Exasperated, I growl, "Don't you trust me?" He opens his mouth, but I throw my hands up in the air, and start to walk away. I've had enough of this. Today's been too hectic, too crazy. I'm not dealing with this, as well. "You know what? Forget it. Just forget it!"

"Jill, you know I trust you..."

"Doesn't seem like it," I say, raising my eyebrows to myself. "If you don't want to tell me, it's fine. Whatever."

"Jill, don't be that way..."

I ignore his comment, looking out the window. "It's raining."

He glances outside. "R-Really?" He clears his throat. "Don't change the subject, Jill."

"And what about that? Last time it was snow, now it's rain. Why're you so scared of it?"

He sighs, giving up. All I can think of is his face when I started to drag him out into the snow before. "Pneumonia."

"Huh?"

"Pneumonia. I had it when I was younger," he says, staring at the rain falling outside. "Father sent me on an errand, though the Doctor told me to rest, so I could get better. It was raining."

I gape at him, pausing in my pacing. When did I start pacing? "While it was raining? Doesn't that make pneumonia worse?"

"It does. I almost died, but Mother found me and took me to the Hospital."

My mouth feels dry. I feel bad for asking, but I need to know. "What about the reason you cried?"

"I'm not a violent person."

'I know that."

"I've never shot anyone in my life; in fact, I believe I made a promise to myself when I was younger that I wouldn't do that." Skye takes a deep breath. "And well, he _is _my father."

"But he beat you—" He winces at my statement "—and, after what you just told me, I would think you would be happy that he's dead."

"I know, but I..." He stops, mouth slightly open, at a loss for words. "I just..."

I hug him gingerly, sitting down next to him. "Okay. I'm sorry for prying; I shouldn't have asked. And I was being mean when I insisted. I'm sorry."

Skye smiles slightly. "It's okay; it feels good to get that off my chest."

"Well, New Year's tomorrow, but you know what?"

"What?"

"Even though you may not think this, I say 'good riddance' to your father." I laugh softly. "He was _not _the right man to run a government, much less raise a kid."

Skye smiles, but I notice it's slightly more broken than usual. But then there's a new, better quirk to his smile. One that I can get used to.

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Do you see why I said I felt bad for Skye last chapter? Ack, only one more to go!<strong>

**And I've been thinking. (Oh, noes!) maybe I should write _The Goddess Crystal _before starting _Hiding_ _Scars/Branded._ While I have a feel for their personalities, right? Plus, everyone seems more eager to read it than the WizardxMolly fic. Hmmm...  
><strong>

**You know what? I will (hopefully) do that, but maybe have a little break after _The Shade Law_, I think. Maybe post/start writing when school starts up again. I don't know, since I might actually post earlier than that, if I can't help it. We'll see.  
><strong>

**So, guys, what'd you think of the chapter? Good? Bad? Mediocre?  
><strong>


	29. The Best and the Worst

The Shade Law

Chapter 29: The Best and the Worst

New Year's. When we make resolutions, decisions, choices, promises. When we choose which are worth keeping.

For the first time in years, Mom and dad aren't here to welcome the beginning of the New Year with me. You would think that the house would feel empty, or like the family's not complete without them. But, as Skye helps me clamber onto the roof to watch the first sunrise, I don't mind or notice the cold, vacant beds.

"I'm sorry I pried, Skye," I say, leaning against his shoulder, wincing from the pain from my gunshot. "I was being immature and I probably hurt you more than helped."

"No, don't be. It was about time I told someone that." Oddly, he doesn't have trouble lying back on the slanting roof, though I continuously slip. I have to constantly grip a shingle to avoid sliding off.

"We've been here before."

He looks at me, confused and probably wondering about my mental state. "You live here; of course you would have come here before."

I laugh at my poor wording. "No, I mean we've had this conversation before. We've been in the situation before."

"Oh, okay."

I glare good-naturally at him, huffing in mock hurt. "You thought I was losing it, didn't you?"

Skye raises his eyebrows, trying his best to look innocent. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, right, like I didn't see the look you just gave me," I say, trying not to fall off the roof.

"Whatever you say, Jill."

Finally getting a good grip on the roof, I say, staring at the fading stars, "Make a wish."

"What?"

"Make a wish. When the sun comes up; that's what my family used to do every year." I shake the nostalgic feeling off, pointing at where the sky has already started to brighten. "See? Better think of your wish soon, because the sun's coming up."

He watches me for a few seconds before smiling crookedly. "Again, I never thought you were the type who does that. You're a very odd person, to say the least. Never expected that."

I grin back, crossing my ankles, slipping just slightly. "That's what you said before going out in the snow with me." Realizing what I just said, I stop with my mouth open. "Oops; sorry for bringing that up again."

He laughs, but I can't help but think that it _must _be forced. "It's okay. What's your wish?"

"You would like to know, wouldn't you?" I say, smiling stupidly at the horizon, happy for a change in subject. "I'm not telling. Yours?"

"Being a hypocrite, are we?"

I hit his arm playfully. "Shut up. I just thought that since you asked me, it's only fair to ask you." Crossing my arms dramatically, I say, "But whatever floats your boat."

Skye takes my hands and uncrosses my arms, chuckling at my theatrics. "Oh, don't be that way, Jill." He kisses me on the forehead, sending me into a blushing, light-headed feeling.

"I'll be that way if I want to," I say, poking him in the chest and pouting. "'Sides, we can tell each other our wishes afterwards, can't we?"

"Not if you want them to come true," he says in return, smiling.

"Psh. I don't believe in that sort of thing."

"Then why don't you tell me your wish?"

"Hey, no pointing fingers; you didn't want to tell me, either." Fingers of creamy light brush the edges of the sky, turning it a pale yellow. "And here comes the sun." I close my eyes. "Make your wish."

I hear him sigh in mock exasperation. Waiting for a few beats, I make my wish.

_I wish things will turn out okay for Skye and me._

Opening my eyes, I wait patiently for him to do the same before saying, "What was your wish?"

He looks away, down at the streets. "That things work out. You?"

I nod, interlocking fingers with him. Oddly, though I hat mushy stuff, I don't find it weird to hold hands with him. "Same here."

A flash of black catches my attention. When I look, it's gone. Skye notices my change in focus. "What happened?"

I stare at the place for a few seconds before turning my gaze back to Skye. "I don't know. Thought I saw something, I guess."

"Do you know what it was?'

I shake my head, getting up, sitting on my haunches. "No."

"Where are you going?"

I crawl my way carefully to the edge of the roof, in the direction of where it disappeared. "Just checking to see what it was."

I hear him shift behind me. "Be careful."

Peeking over the edge, my hair falls over. "Yeah, yeah. It's not like I'm going to—" i nearly topple over when I see what—who—it is, losing my grip slightly. "Shit."

Skye sighs, coming up behind me. "See, I told you."

I would rub my eyes if I could move my arms. Skye pulls me up into a semi-sitting position by my shoulders. "No, that's not why I swore."

"Then why?"

"Go look for yourself," I say, because I know he'll see the same thing as I did. When he peers over, I hear him mutter under his breath, and it doesn't sound too nice.

Because it's Leith I saw.

From what I can see, he's as tall as Skye now, maybe even taller. He looks about eighteen, with spiky black hair that comes to past his ears and sweeps in front of his blazing red eyes. My eyes are drawn to a necklace he wears around his neck.

The pendant resembles a shard of crystal, attached by gold wire. The crystal is different, but it takes me a few seconds to realize why. When I do, my eyes widen.

It's multicolored, like a liquid rainbow.

And Leith's talking to a Government soldier, whose hand rests on the handle of the gun in his holster. The man's nodding, agreeing with whatever it is Leith's saying. The shard changes to a light gold color, with hints of charcoal black.

"Why's the crystal changing colors?" I ask, staring along with Skye.

My voice seems to shake him out of his trance. "Huh?"

"Why's the crystal shard around his neck changing colors?"

Skye swallows nervously, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. "The crystal in the ring reacted to feelings. Maybe it's the same with it?"

"Maybe," I say, pressing closer to the roof. "What does gold mean? And black?"

"I know gold means pride or satisfaction," he says, studying Leith. "But I have no clue about black."

Our conversation is cut when Leith and the soldier shake hands. Like they're sealing a deal. The shard returns to it's original color; a dark orange color, flickering like a dying ember.

"How about that orange?" I ask, watching as the two leave, each in different directions.

"Anger. It means anger, though I don't know why it is flickering." He looks at me. "Maybe it means he's not completely set on being angry?"

"I don't know, but there's no use trying to figure it out now." Sitting back, I rake my brain for a change of subject. I'll ask Leith about it later. "What do you think's going to happen in the future?"

He shrugs, not as eager to let the matter drop. "All we can hope for is the best, right?"

"Yeah." Hope for the best.

_But prepare for the worst._

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: 'TIS COMPLETE! :D (Sorry the chapter's so short.)<strong>

**My first ever completed multi-chapter fic is done! I'm feeling sort of proud of myself, but I couldn't have done it without many people. Thanks go to:**

** Pelkasauras-Cherry345 for your reviews, which I always look forward to. And, your questions, whether you did this intentionally or not, kicked the writer's block bunny to the curb many a time.  
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**HarvestDragon for your reviews (again) and PMs, which always seemed to make me smile. And, yes, you make like Leith more than Skye.  
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**HorseGirl784 for your interest in this story. Thank you for the compliments, and, most of all, the constructive criticism. It's helped me improve, but whether or not it's noticeable is another matter.  
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**HersheyChocolates101 for your help as a beta-reader. I know I've thanked you multiple times, but I have to thank you again for your insightful comments and grammar help.  
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**The Original Ice Queen  
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**The Rune Reverend  
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**MorWolfMor (FlamingIceWolfGirl)  
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**Hanahanimon  
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**Mirria1  
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**Courtneytilly  
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**Rosy the Spazz  
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**Magimagus  
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**SkyeRules  
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**RAINRAIN9  
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**Nutbush  
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**Kurono-Angel  
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**LatteCurlz  
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**Hidden by the Sun  
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**Moon Eclipse Shadows  
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**Forevergone123  
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**Strikey-chan  
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**XxStarZephunaSakuraxX  
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**Etoile of the twilight  
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**It's funny to think that this entire story (well, mostly the fact that I chose JillxSkye, anyways) started because I wanted some new, quality Skye fics in the archive. When I didn't see any for a long time, I gave it a shot. Writing one, that is, however bad it is. I wanted a story where he wasn't just a smooth-talking thief, or a broken soul. I wanted something that gave reasons to as to why he did what he did: stealing (which will be addressed in _The Goddess Crystal_), not appearing when it was raining or snowing, why he would be attracted to a plain farmer (which, again, will be addressed in _The Goddess Crystal_), etc.  
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**I wanted a different view and opinion on one of my all-time favorite bachelors from Harvest Moon. The reason why? His character is so different, so unique from others that there's so much you can do with it, and no one was taking the opportunity. I hope I achieved that goal, however poor or bad the end result may be.  
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**So here's my fanfiction. Here's my take. Here's the story that took me one night to think up and more than half a year to execute.  
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**And to leave you off, I'll put up a fun fact and a few story stats.  
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**Fun Fact: Every chapter, whether entirely or in part, was written on memo pads on my phone before being typed up.  
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**Completed: 29/07/2012  
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**Number of Reviews Right Now: 95  
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**Thank you all.  
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